Sinking
by NovelistServant
Summary: Stanford boards the RMS Titanic after visiting a promising university with Stanley and their father, unaware of who he will meet, unaware of what will happen on the grandest ship in the world, and unaware how he and his family may have to fight for their lives. A brand new Gravity Falls AU.
1. Chapter 1

Ford sipped his coffee as he read a book in the afternoon sun. He was sitting in the kitchen and he readjusted his glasses as he started to discover who murdered the maid. He ran a spotted six-fingered hand through his gray-white hair, his appearance a true testament to his age. He was alone in the old shack in the middle of the woods, but not for long.

A knock came expectedly and, despite being a very old man, he moved swiftly up from his chair and to the front door without the assistance of a walking stick. When he opened it, he found a young woman with curly, frizzy, unruly hair and freckles all over her cheeks and nose. She wore an Arrows-n'-Daisies t-shirt underneath a suit jacket with ripped jeans and black high-heeled boots. The young woman looked a little frazzled and nervous, but smiled sweetly nonetheless. Her arms were full, carrying a bouquet of sunflowers and ferns, a journal, and a red short-handled purse, but she somehow managed to free a hand and she extended it to Ford for him to shake.

"Dr. Pines, I'm Elizabeth Martel. Thank you so much for having me."

"Please, the pleasure is all mine, my dear." Ford said politely and shook her hand. "Would you… care for some assistance?" He offered, having a hunch that she would deny his help, but still offered it regardless.

"Actually," Elizabeth said as she grabbed the bouquet of flowers and held them out to the old man. "You may take these to keep. They're for you."

Ford blinked like a confused owl and smiled as he took the sunflowers. "Thank you, Mrs. Martel. They're beautiful. Why don't you come in and make yourself at home while I put them in some water?"

Elizabeth nodded and followed him into the house. Ford gestured for her to sit in the living room and she obeyed. While the old man went off to put the flowers in a vase, Elizabeth sat on an old yellow-and-orange-plaid couch and observed the room. As a reporter and a writer, she was quite observant. She could tell that this room had been used for a long time and was loved and well cared for. It was cozy and a little messy, but not too much where it was overwhelming. Photos on the wall gave spoilers to a story she was about to hear.

"Would you care for a cup of coffee, Mrs. Martel?" Ford called from the kitchen.

"Please, just 'Liz' is okay, sir." Elizabeth called back as she blushed slightly. "And, no thank you, Dr. Pines."

"As appropriate as it is for you to call me 'Dr. Pines', 'Ford' will do just fine, my dear."

"Yes, sir."

Liz could have sworn she heard the old man chuckle from the other room and she blushed even more furiously. She sat her purse down by her feet and began to take notes in her journal to clear her spinning head, noting the circled-stains on the coffee table, the soothing smell of firewood, and the shelf that was cluttered with books and more photographs by a card table and a fish-tank. After only a sentence or two, however, Ford entered the room and sat on the other end of the couch.

"Now," He draped his left arm on the back of the couch to face the young woman. "You had some questions for me about the _Titanic_?"

Liz closed her journal and nodded. "Yes, sir. If I… Well, I was hoping you would tell me about your experience on the ship. I…" Liz blushed even deeper and looked away. Ford didn't press her to speak, rather he waited patiently for her to carry on the conversation. He was a kind man, a gentle man, so Liz felt safe to speak her mind. "... I heard that you knew a lot about what happened. That you were on that ship."

It all made sense as to why the woman was being so hesitant, wanting her answers but unwilling to bring up traumatizing feelings or memories in order to do so. Ford let out a soft "hm" under his breath and answered the young lady. "You're not wrong, Liz. We fought tooth and nail on the ship to live as it sunk, but not even half of the people on that ship lived. It was… horrible. Just horrible. I can remember every detail as if it happened yesterday."

"If it's too painful to talk about it, I understand," Liz said quickly. "I was only hoping that I might hear your story."

"No, no." Ford said with a hand raised and a soft smile. "Truth be told, I'm glad that you contacted me and wanted to hear about my experience. It's high time I told the world what I saw and did."

Liz opened her journal and poised her pen above the page to begin to take notes. Ford chuckled at seeing her so attentive. She reminded him of a younger version of himself. Back when his hair was brown and his skin was free of wrinkles and spots. Back when he felt weighed down by the world, until he met someone that made him feel free.

* * *

Two men glared at the women in front of them while the bartender watching from behind smiled with a smug grin behind his toothbrush mustache. The bartender had just endured a long morning of people getting drinks to celebrate the beautiful morning and the bright day ahead, and now he finally had a moment's peace so he could watch the unusual game of poker. Three men had just finished placing their bets. One man glared at his friend maliciously for betting on their third-class tickets on the best ship in the whole world to, arguably, the best country in the world. The two men were Swedish and had found themselves lucky as of late, having a trip to America waiting for them, but their luck was about to run out (or so they thought).

The only lady at the table freed a hand from her small collection of cards and took another puff from her cigarette to help her small amount of worry. She and her friend had bet on all they had, so it was all or nothing. She glanced over at the young man she had gotten to know last night and she saw a bead of sweat trickled down his forehead. His knee bounced rapidly under the table and he readjusted his glasses. The young woman, on the other hand, was calm. She had hissed to the man before placing bets, "Ya miss all the shots ya don't take, Fiddler." The young man only agreed to place the risky bets after the woman agreed to never call him "Fiddler" again. She could understand that; she hated it when people only addressed her as "Negro".

After the last few cards were exchanged and nothing else could change, the lady of the game said, "Alright, let's see whatcha got, gentlemen. Fiddleford?"

The young man threw his cards down and huffed out in frustration.

"Olaf?" The woman asked.

"_Ingenting_." The balding young man growled in Swedish when he showed his cards and he gulped down some beer to steady himself.

"Sven?"

The man didn't smile nor looked distraught. He simply laid down his cards and said in a low voice, "Two pair."

The dark-skinned female of the group breathed out deeply through the nose. She looked at Fiddleford and said, "Fidds, I'm sorry."

"Hephzibah," Fiddleford scolded. "That was everythang…"

"I'm sorry if ya were hopin to stay in Southampton for a few more days," Hephzibah went on and slammed her cards down, "CUZ WE'RE GOIN' TO AMERICA TODAY! FULL HOUSE, BOYS!"

Fiddleford snatched up the two tickets and kissed them as he jumped up and danced around. Hephzibah swept up the coins and her golden harmonica as she laughed.

Sven was shaking in rage. He couldn't punch the lady and the man was dancing out of his reach, in addition he couldn't be mad at the two for playing a game. However, he could be mad at the man who had bet away the trip to America that had cost him an arm and a leg, so he punched Olaf in the face so hard he fell out of his chair.

While Sven swore loudly in Swedish, Hephzibah and Fiddleford gathered their things and ran out to the street. They had both stayed at a hotel and bar by the docks. Hephzibah had intended on going to America to find a better life, but had no idea how. Maybe work until she could afford a cheap ticket on a different ship? Fiddleford was from America and had visited Britain for his education. He was going back home in a few days anyhow, but now he was going on the great _RMS Titanic_. He had had a feeling in his gut last night that this woman was something special.

Pushing and shoving past the crowd with the tickets in Fiddleford's hand and their things on their backs, the two ran for the great ship, which was leaving too soon for comfort. The man with light-brown hair and glasses was having a hard time catching up with the woman with black dreadlocks that were tied up by a piece of cloth in a high-ponytail. They sped past a long line of first-class passengers exiting their rich carriages and so forth, not caring who they bothered or who they pushed. When they reached the gate, Fiddleford vouched for Hephzibah, saying that they were both American and lice-free, and they both entered.

They ran into the ship as Hephzibah yelled, "We're the luckiest bitches in the world, ya know that?!"

Fiddleford laughed over her joy and led the way up to the dock to wave goodbye to all the people less fortunate than them.

* * *

Stanford made sure his gloves were on good and snug and that his cuffs were crisp before letting himself out of the car. The five-fingered gloves didn't hide the fact that he had six fingers on each hand to the observant, but the article of clothing helped to make it less noticeable. Once Stanford stepped out he was hit with that familiar scent of saltwater and he breathed in deeply. It was a nice smell that made him think of home, back in New Jersey with Ma and Sherman, where they were waiting for the three men to return.

Stanley, his twin brother, stepped out and whistled at the huge boat they were about to board. "Holy Moses! That thing is _huge_!"

"Almost as big as your ego, Stanley." Stanford teased lightly as he looked at the _Titanic_.

Their father also observed the ship as he paid the cab driver the fee and joined his sons. "She's quite a thing of beauty. The largest moving object ever made by man and the most luxurious. On her, we'll be living like kings!"

"Well then what are we waiting for?!" Stanley said excitedly, and threw the trunk open, grabbed his suitcase, and nearly ran for the dock like a child.

Stanford smiled pleasantly as he grabbed his suitcase. He also had a weak spot for the boats and the sea. To sail the Atlantic once more would definitely help take his mind off of his future. With Pa behind him, he followed his brother to the Ship of Dreams and tried to remain grateful that not only was he about to ride on the unsinkable ship, but he about to ride it with a first class ticket that his trip to an interested university had earned him.

The Pines weren't royalty or millionaires, but thanks to Stanford they may as well be. His immense intelligence and outstanding academic-work had caught the attention of a supreme college in England, which Stanford had just visited with Stanley and Pa. Stanley almost didn't go, but Stanford managed to convince him to join him on the trip by pointing out the fact that he would get to travel across the Atlantic and meet pretty European ladies. Having his twin made the expedition a little more bearable and Stanford was grateful that Stanley tolerated it in order to be there for his brother.

The three Pines men stepped onto the boat and showed their tickets. Once in the main lobby and underneath a beautiful dome, Stanley already caught the eye of several young ladies dressed in their finest, blushing and giggling behind white-gloved hands and fans. Stanley wiggled his eyebrows and messed with his red tie a bit before introducing himself, leaving Stanford to roll his eyes and follow his father to their living quarters.

* * *

It was late into the second day of sailing. Actually, it was evening now. Stanford had a telescope out on deck of the _RMS Titanic_, stargazing and recording what he saw on a star-map, which he would later paste into his journal. For now, he wrapped himself tightly in his sweater-vest and trenchcoat, glad to be rid of his suit, and studied the stars in peace. However, truth be told, he wasn't at peace. When he tore his eyes away from the heavens above to write, his polydactyl hand froze and his eyes slowly averted from his work to the edge of the ship.

He could hear the waves crashing against the huge boat as it sailed for New York City. He slowly, almost like his body was not his own, closed his journal, folding the star-map, sat the book down by the telescope on a bench, and walked towards the edge of the _Titanic_. Before he knew it, his hands had curled around the white rail and he peered down at the cold sea water below.

Stanford hadn't felt like himself in months. First it had been a lack of excitement over he and his brother's own boat, the _Stan O' War_, then a lack of excitement for anything, and then a sinking feeling that no one could explain or pull him out from. Not even Stanley. This wasn't sadness or boredom, Stanford knew what those felt like. No, this feeling was suffocating. He was cracking under the pressure his father put him under. He was bleeding from the cuts the world gave him for being different. The voices he had heard as a child plagued him so much, too much, he heard them even when he was alone, especially when he was alone. That everyone would be better off if he was dead, that he would be better off dead. He was trapped, trapped, trapped! But maybe he could be free. Maybe there was a reason he had always been drawn to the sea.

He stood there for several minutes until he started to climb, stepping onto a rail and then swinging a leg over the fence. He swung the other leg over and stood on the edge of the boat. With both hands holding the rail, he peered over into the sea, knowing that if he lets go he would die. It was a thrilling, bone-chilling feeling to be so close to death. One wrong more and it was all over.

The fear of death seemed to be snapping Stanford scrambled thoughts back into place. No. No, he wouldn't jump. He couldn't jump. If he was going to die, best not in such a painful manner. And he couldn't leave Stanley like this. He _couldn't_. Stanford was about to climb back over and resume his studies, but he was mesmerized by the ocean. It truly was beautiful and something to behold. He took in a deep breath, the smell of the saltwater hugging his soul with nostalgia, and he let the wind play with his fluffy brown hair to help soothe him. He was too at peace to ruin it with death.

Hephzibah, meanwhile, had been looking for a comfortable spot to smoke, a nice place to lay and gaze at the stars. She had wandered to the back of the boat when she spotted a young white man hanging off the railing. Her heart dropped as she recognized what he was doing. Having too much experience with this sort of thing, she slowly walked towards him and cleared her throat as to not startle him and make him let go accidentally.

Stanford turned his head and his eyes widened at the unusual person that stood about ten feet away from him. A young woman, about his age, with one of the darkest shades of skin he had ever seen. She had dreadlocks, tied up in a high-ponytail, that went down past her shoulders, and she wore dirty clothes of a puffy white shirt, brown pants, a black shawl around her waist, and a black coat with a pair of black boots. She didn't look scared, but apprehensive; she looked at Stanford like he was wounded puppy. Humiliation flooded Stanford at realizing that this lady, this stranger, this Negro, had seen him at his lowest point and toying with a cowardly act. If he had any self respect he'd let go right now.

"Don't let go." She spoke softly.

Stanford glared at her. "Don't be stupid. I won't let go." He said indignantly. As he said it, he truly believed it. The idea had left him minutes ago. No, he wouldn't jump. He couldn't jump.

"I know ya won't." The woman said matter-of-factly. "If ya were gonna ya'd've done it by now. So, since I've got nothin' better to do, mind walkin' me through your thought process?"

Stanford looked away from the young woman. Who did she think she was?! Talking to him like this, not respecting his wishes, humiliating him. He racked his brain for a good excuse to be on the other side of the railing, wishing he was as good as a liar as his brother, until he spat out something that wasn't exactly a lie. "I'm simply observing the ocean."

"Ah." The woman walked closer with her hands in her pockets to shield them from the bitter cold. "Kinda risky, isn't it?"

"Doesn't everything in life involve a little risk to some extent?" Stanford questioned.

The woman let out a small laugh and smiled. "Truer words've never been spoken." She pulled out a cigarette from her pocket and held it out to the young man. "Want one?"

Stanford stared at her. What on Earth was she doing? Why was she offering him a cigarette like they were sitting in a cozy bar? "No, thank you." He said, his voice almost as cold as the sea below them.

The woman shrugged, pocketed her cigarette, and started to take off her coat.

"What are you doing now?" Stanford barked at her.

"Gettin' ready to jump in after ya." The woman said plainly.

"What?!"

"Well it's clear to me that I'm gonna have to jump in after ya if ya accidentally fall while observin' the ocean n' all." The woman tossed her coat down on a nearby bench, close to where Stanford's telescope stood.

"You could die!" Stanford scolded.

"Imma good swimmer." The woman said casually as she started to untie one shoe.

"The fall alone could kill you!"

"It'll hurt like Hell, but not as much as the water itself. Bet it's freezin'." She speculated as she slipped off the first shoe

Stanford looked down at the sea and nodded in agreement. "Once, when I was a child, a wave crashed into me in the winter while playing with my brother along the shores of a beach. Water that cold… it hits you like a thousand knives. You can't breathe or think of anything but the pain you're in." He thought about how Stanley had helped him walk home after that while snow trickled down on them. He thought of Stanley. He couldn't leave his twin like this. There was no way he was going to jump. He would never jump! He just had a moment of weakness and some woman had caught him in the worst possible moment, that's all!

"Now I'm definitely not lookin' forward to jumpin' in after ya." The woman chuckled as she took off the other shoe. "But I don't have a choice. But ya do."

"You're insane!" Stanford yelled, his eyes tightly shut, hoping that the next time he opened his eyes the woman would be gone.

"Sure I am, what's your point?" The woman asked light-heartedly and then held out her hand. "Now, c'mon. Take my hand. I'd feel a lot better if ya were observin' from the other side of the rail."

Stanford opened his eyes and looked down at her outstretched hand that was by his left side. "You don't want me to do that." He said darkly.

"To be perfectly honest, at the moment, that's all I want." It was her tone. For the first time during the whole conversation, she wasn't chuckling or care-free or peaceful. She sounded stressed.

Stanford would have climbed back onto the ship without the woman's presence just fine. He wouldn't jump. He couldn't jump. Still, if taking her hand would give this poor Negro woman some reassurance that he wouldn't jump… Stanford took her hand and allowed her to help him turn around. He faced her fully and when she smiled, he was surprised by how beautiful she looked.

"Thanks." She said and squeezed his hand. "I'm Hephzibah Cece."

"Stanford Pines."

Hephzibah looked down at his hand for a moment and found that it had six fingers. A quick glance at his other hand and she saw that it also had an extra finger.

Stanford caught her looking at his birth-defect and he lowered his head. "I told you you wouldn't want to take my hand."

Hephzibah surprised Stanford by giving his hand another squeeze and taking his other hand. "With all due respect, Mr. Pines, I've seen weirder."

Stanford looked back up at her and was in awe as she slowly pulled him back onto shore and he swung a leg at a time back on the other side. After a few steps away from the edge of the _Titanic_, they let go of each other's hands.

Hephzibah picked up her coat, which had been by the telescope, and asked, "Is the telescope yours?"

Stanford pocketed his hands in his trenchcoat and nodded. "Before I was mesmerized by the sea, I was stargazing."

"I see." Hephzibah put on her coat and then picked up a boot and began to tie it on. "I used to stargaze with my grandfather back in Ireland. Course, we didn't know the actual names of the stars, so we'd play a game n' rename 'em a million times."

Stanford chuckled at the idea. He looked up at the clear night and awed at the stars. He caught sight of Saturn and asked, "Have you ever observed the night sky through a telescope?"

Hephzibah shook her head.

"Do you want to?"

Hephzibah nodded and allowed Stanford to teach her how to use the tool so she could see the planets and the moon. In return, she shared the made-up nicknames she had given the constellations.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day, Stanford kept an eye out for Hephzibah. He didn't know why, but he did.

She was different. Yes, that was what intrigued him. Not only was she poor and dark-skinned, but she was intelligent, witty, kind, and beautiful. When Stanford went to bed last night, he had laid in bed and thought about her. She was mysterious. He was interested. He wanted to learn more about her.

When Stanford found himself alone, he decided to explore the ship and keep an eye out for Hephzibah. It got to a point where he was actively looking for her. After checking area passengers of all classes could mingle, he took in a deep breath and decided to explore the third-class section of the _Titanic_. First-class passengers could go anywhere they wanted, but third-class passengers were forbidden from entering the first-class thresholds.

Sun trickled down from the open ceiling. Benches were full of adults pleasantly chatting in the late-morning. Children were running around and playing. One child was chasing a rat, receiving laughs from adults. A piano played cheerful music in the back. Stanford climbed down the steps and smiled pleasantly at the company. It was by no means luxurious by any stretch of the mind, but everyone seemed to be having a good time. He passed by a very-pregnant woman who was walking with her three-year-old daughter and holding her hand. One man was sketching another man without the model even knowing it. Some women were gossiping while their children played by their feet. There was so much life into such a tightly-fitted room. The atmosphere here was much more comfortable than any room on the first-class section of the _Titanic_.

Sticking out like a sore thumb, being the only one with such dark skin, Hephzibah was sitting on a bench and chatting with a man with glasses and light-brown hair. Stanford also stuck out in the crowd, wearing a nice suit and clearly a first-class passenger. The room was a little more quiet so people could watch him, but not much quieter. He was used to people staring at him, but that didn't mean he liked it. He slowly approached Hephzibah and the man she was talking to and soon he caught Hephzibah's eye. The man she was talking to also looked at him and smiled pleasantly.

"Good morning, Ms. Cece." Stanford greeted.

"G'mornin', Mr. Pines." Hephzibah replied and looked at her friend. "Fidds, this is Stanford Pines, the man I had the pleasure of stargazin' with last night. Mr. Pines, this is my friend Fiddleford McGucket."

"Pleasure's all mine." Fiddleford spoke in a thick Appalachian accent as he extended a hand to shake.

Stanford shook it. "Greetings." He waited for Fiddleford to make a comment or even look at his hand, but Fiddleford did nothing but let go of his hand and smile pleasantly. Stanford smiled and asked, "So, Mr. McGucket, where are you from?"

"Oh, I'm from America, Mr Pines." Fiddleford answered pleasantly. "I'm from Tennessee. I'm on m'way home now, gonna catch a train in New York. Where ya from?"

"New Jersey. I have a brother who lives in New York and we'll be visiting with him before returning home."

Fiddleford turned to Hephzibah and asked, "What 'bout ya, Hephzie? Where ya from, 'gain?"

Hephzibah shrugged. "Depends whatcha mean by that. My grandparents were born in South Africa, but my parents were both born in Ireland, n' so was I, but my grandfather n' I… well, we started movin' around a lot when I was seven. I've been in n' out of the United Kingdom for years."

"Really?" Stanford clarified and when Fiddleford patted the seat next to him on the bench, he sat down. "Where have you been?"

"Well, most of Ireland n' Scotland. I visited Iceland, but that didn't last too long. I've been to Norway, Sweden, n' Finland, n' now Britain. N' soon America!" Hephzibah cheered with sparkling eyes. "Tell me, America, what's it like?"

Stanford thought for a moment as how to describe it, and settled with, "New York has some of the tallest buildings you will ever see. It's filled to the brim with people and there are dozens of stores and shops and cafes as far as they eye can see."

"Tennessee is nothin' like that." Fiddleford added to make it clear that America was different depending where you are from. "Full of poor little shacks scattered in the midst of big woods n' mountains, all very beautiful. You've never lived until you've seen a sunrise on a mountaintop."

"Oh, I've seen plenty of woods n' mountains n' cities." Hephzibah explained. "I just wanna be free n' see new places n' meet new people!"

Stanford, Fiddleford, and Hephzibah ended up moving onward with their conversation, talking well into the day. At one point, when Fiddleford was distracted talking to one young lady, Stanford and Hephzibah went upstairs to the main dock and walked around where people of all classes were allowed to mingle. Stanford was surprised how easy it was to talk to her, like talking to Stanley. While he told of mischievous stories he and Stanley had gotten into as children, Hephzibah told of stores she had of traveling with her grandfather.

"If you don't mind me asking, Ms. Cece, where is your grandfather now?" Stanford asked.

"I don't mind." Hephzibah said with a shrug. "Buried in a cemetery somewhere in Ireland. He died when I was twelve."

"I'm very sorry."

"Thank ya, Mr. Pines." Hephzibah replied and paused to look out at the ocean that circled the ship. It was a little after noon and the sun was golden and sparkled on the seawater. "He was a good man. We taught each other how to read. I wanted to go to school, but that was out of the question, so after we both learned how to read, we read whatever we could get our hands on, which wasn't much, but some of my fondest memories are sneakin' into a library late at night n' borrowin' a book." Hephzibah happily shared as she leaned over the rail and crossed her arms on it, sharing at the sea.

Stanford smiled pleasantly at her. "You like books?"

"I love books." Hephzibah breathed. "I can't wait to get to America! I'm gonna go to one of those libraries n' stay as long as I want, readin' as many books as I want!"

Stanford understood why she had never been able to go into a library freely in the past. He wanted to hold out her hand to her, but he hesitated. He clenched his hand and rubbed it with his thumb, looking down at it and recounting his fingers. Six. There will always be six. But then Stanford remembered how undisturbed, how accepting, Hephzibah had been about his birth-defect, so he took in a deep breath and held out his hand to her, just by her left shoulder.

"Come with me." Stanford invited.

Hephzibah glanced at his hand and smiled as she stood up straight and took it, her fingers draped over his hand gently like a curtain as he walked her down to a more sophisticated area of the ship, just shy of first class. A few very well dressed men and women peered at them, but Stanford pressed forward and Hephzibah was used to strange looks, so she found the task to ignore them quite easily. At one point, they reached a set of double doors made of mahogany and Stanford let go of Hephzibah's hand to push the doors open. Normally his eyes would scan for a new book to pour himself into, but he focused his spears of vision on Hephzibah to watch her reaction to the library.

It was not tall, about the same height as your average room, but it was wide and crowded with bookshelves with couches and chairs and desks scattered among the seemingly endless knowledge, a high-class collection of books, documents, and stories all waiting to be read. Hephzibah's eyes widened and her jaw dropped, a big smile on her face. She stepped into the room and awed humbly at the library.

"I've never seen so many books in one place!" Hephzibah exclaimed.

Stanford chuckled good-naturedly and allowed the doors to close behind them when they walked in. "If you like it so much you should use it."

Hephzibah walked down the shelves, being watched by Stanford with his hands being his back and observing her every move admirably. Hephzibah didn't mind; she let him watch her walk in her rags and read the titles of the books. "Now how are ya to tell which books are good?" Hephzibah asked as she ran a finger along the spines of the many books. "None of 'em are old or worn lookin'."

"How is that suppose to determine if it is a good book or not, Ms. Cece?" Stanford asked amusingly.

"A worn book is a book that has been loved n' read many times, therefore it's context must be good." Hephzibah explained. "Then again, ya can never judge a book by it's cover, worn n' old or shiny n' new."

Stanford stood still and gave Hephzibah's words some thought. She was quite wise for someone so poor and young. Perhaps all of her traveling and being raised by her grandfather had aged her mind and spirit. Hephzibah picked a book and opened it. She smiled, sat on a couch and began to read.

Stanford peek at the title and said, "Ah, that's an excellent read."

"I know." Hephzibah said. "I've read it before. Several times."

"I'm surprised you didn't pick up _Romeo and Juliet_."

Hephzibah gagged, making Stanford give a small laugh, and she explained in an irritated tone, "Why on Earth would I enjoy such a pointless story? They killed 'emselves for nothin'."

Stanford laughed and sat on the couch next to her, resting his head on his hand as his arm laid on the back of the couch. Hephzibah read on for a moment, trying to ignore the young man that was watching her, and then Stanford requested, "Will you read it aloud to me? I'm tired of reading to myself."

Hephzibah glanced up, gave him a sheepish smile, and started from the beginning.

* * *

"Her voice was as soft as silk as she read. She didn't try to imitate the cast of _Hamlet_ perfectly, but she'd take on an accent or had a lisp, all except for Hamlet himself, which she read of using her own voice proudly." Ford remembered fondly, his head down and his old face smiling. He looked up to find Liz writing rapidly and he suddenly realized that he may have been going too fast this entire time. "Should I slow down for you?"

"No, please!" Liz said as she wrote away quickly in her journal, a dazzling smile on her face. She had come here to hear Ford's personal record of the _Titanic_ tragedy, not a love story, but she was hooked and didn't want to stop until the story was done. "Keep going!"

Ford smiled and chuckled at his little audience before continuing to tell the interviewer his story.

* * *

By the third act, the library doors opened and Stanley walked in. "Poindexter, are ya in here? Pa…" He stopped when he saw his brother sitting with a woman on the couch, the Negro woman reading Shakespeare. Stanford blushed a little when Stanley smiled cockily. "And who is this?"

Stanford stood up and cleared his throat, "Stanley, this is my friend, Ms. Hephzibah Cece. Ms. Cece, this is my twin brother, Mr. Stanley Pines."

Hephzibah stood and closed the book as she smiled. She and Stanley shook hands and Stanley greeted her warmly. "Nice to meet you. Coming to dinner?"

Hephzibah laughed and shook her head. "No, I don't think…"

"What the heck, Ford?" Stanley asked his brother. "If she's your friend than she should come to dinner! She looks like she could use a good meal."

"Stanley," Stanford said quietly. "You know it's… it wouldn't be… she's a…"

"So?" Stanley asked with arms crossed over his chest and a raised eyebrow. "Who gives a damn?"

Stanford glanced back at Hephzibah as she put the book back where she picked it up from and looked ready to go back to the third-class section of the boat if needed. Stanley was right. If nothing else, Hephzibah was his friend, and if Stanley was willing to support having her at dinner, then maybe it would be possible. "Ms. Cece…"

"Please, 'Hephzibah' is fine." Hephzibah requested.

Stanford smiled. "Hephzibah, would you please accompany us to dinner?"

The third-class female shrugged with a smile and said, "Alright, I suppose I can."

Stanford gave the matter some thought, and then lead the way out of the library. "Not dressed like that."

Hephzibah gave him a sneer. "What's wrong with the way I look?" She demanded. She knew it wasn't acceptable to wear male clothing, but she liked her shirts and pants and jacket. Plus, it's not like she had any other clothes to change into.

Stanford turned around and ignored the smug look Stanley gave him from behind Hephzibah. "Nothing! N-Nothing, you're… you're very beautiful, Hephzibah, but if you go into the lion's den with a piece of meat hanging from around your neck, you _will_ be mauled."

As it turned out, Stanley had a drinking buddy from last night who made expensive dresses, so Stanley introduced Hephzibah to Ralph and he was excited about an interesting project: a dress nice enough for a first-class dinner in the span of six hours. Stanley's friend apparently made quite a profit making dresses in record time. Hephzibah stood on a little stool in his second-class bedroom, keeping her guard up in case he tried anything funny, but Ralph was a pleasant fellow, chatting away happily as he measured her and made her a simple yet elegant dress made out of dark-green silk that sparkled in the light. The dress was low enough to hide her dirty boots so she didn't have to find a pair of new shoes and she made due with her appearance with her limited access.

Meanwhile, Stanford stood outside of the dining hall four minutes after seven, immensely anxious for his friend's arrival. This was a horrible idea and if he had any sense he would have turned down Stanley's idea, but the fact remained that Stanford enjoyed Hephzibah's company and he was happy to provide dinner for her. Stanley was right; she needed a square meal.

Stanley was right by Stanford's side for awhile, until he got distracted by a group of giggling females and wandered off to charm them before dinner. Stanford checked the clock by the stairwell many times, periodically tugging on his white gloves nervously and fixing his cuffs, until when he once checked the grandfather clock and his eye caught someone that took his breath away.

The dress was made of dark-green silk that sparkled and shined. It was layered at the bottom half, like other fashionable dresses at the time, and the dress had short sleeves and was well cut to show her chest but keep her breasts covered modestly. She also wore long, white gloves that went up a little past her elbows and her dreadlocks were tied and pinned up in an elegant bun. She bore no jewelry and Stanford could tell by the sound of her steps that she still wore her boots, but she was beautiful and had washed well before dinner. Stanford smiled encouragingly at her and, despite the unpleasant looks she was receiving for her presence, she was smiling back at him with rosy cheeks and sparkling brown eyes.

When Hephzibah was two steps away from him, Stanford gently took her gloved hand and kissed it as it was customary to do when greeting a lady.

Hephzibah giggled and hissed, "I saw that on a nickelodeon once n' I've always wanted someone to do that to me."

Stanford couldn't help but return the chuckle. "You're shining like a new penny, Hephzibah." He said quietly. Stanford offered his right arm to her and Hephzibah took it, stepping down to his level and allowing him to lead to dinner.

Stanley soon joined them and bowed to Hephzibah lower than necessary and talking to the floor. "May I also escort such a fine young lady to dinner, Ms. Hephzibah Cece?" He said mockingly, making Stanford and Hephzibah snicker.

"I suppose ya may." Hephzibah said and gave him her free arm.

Hephzibah was much stronger than the twins knew and was used to taking care of herself; it was alien to be between two well-built men and escorted to such a nice dinner. They led on down the stairs to the dining hall, flowing in a river of nicely dressed men and women, all putting on a show just for the final meal of the day. Hephzibah found pairs of eyes darting to her. That wasn't alien to her, but with nowhere to run and no way to protect herself if the worst comes to worst (that's not entirely true, she always had a pocket knife in each of her boots), she felt exposed and insecure, but of course it would never come to that in such a place. Unknowingly, her arm tightened around Stanford's, but Stanford noticed and patted her hand slyly.

"What the hell am I supposed to do?" Hephzibah whispered, feeling like she was already doing something wrong.

"For one, it is unwise to swear." Stanford advised.

"All you need to do is stand by us and look pretty." Stanley whispered back. "Just hold your head high, keep up a brave face, and copy every other lady you see."

"Sounds about right." Stanford approved. "There's not much else to it."

"They all love money. Just pretend you're related to an African prince or something and you're in the club."

"Stanley." Stanford hissed.

Stanley opened his mouth to ask what the sudden scolding was about, but his eye caught their father and he suddenly understood the signal Stanford was trying to deliver. Filbrick wore his best suit and a black fedora with matching sunglasses. Rumor had it he had sensitive eyes which required him to wear sunglasses indoors, when in actuality he just liked to wear them and needed an excuse to be allowed the unusual decor among the rich. He saw his sons walking a black woman to the dining hall and his jaw tightened, but in the midst of a large crowd, it was best to play it off rather than cause a scene.

Pa approached and Stanford swallowed quietly before making the first introduction. "Pa, this is our friend, Ms. Hephzibah Cece. Hephzibah, this is our father, Mr. Filbrick Pines."

"It's an honor to meet ya, sir." Hephzibah said with a polite nod.

Pa offered his hand, and Hephzibah took it. They shook and Pa said, "It's nice to meet you, too, Ms. Cece. I'm afraid I didn't getta chance to meet you last night at dinner."

"No, sir, I was elsewhere." Hephzibah answered.

"Ah, I'd assume so since it's be hard to miss you in a crowd." Pa suggested coldly, and though no one could see it behind his sunglasses, his eyes darted to Hephzibah's dark skin.

Stanley's blood boiled and Stanford paled a shade, but Hephzibah was all too used to this type of manner and only smiled politely. "Yes, sir, I am. You'll find enjoyable people are hard to miss."

Pa forced a smile. "Well, let's eat before midnight, shall we?" And he walked off, no doubt so he could scowl or growl to himself however he pleased.

Stanley leaned to his left to whisper a quick joke to Hephzibah to make her feel better. "Into the lion's den."


	3. Chapter 3

Hephzibah was seated graciously next to Stanford, who pulled out her chair and even dusted it off unnecessarily for her, certain she had never been to such a nice dinner and wanting to be even more certain she had a wonderful time, but he didn't know if that was a possibility given the fact that Pa was looming over them like a ghost. Stanley sat on Hephzibah's right with Stanford on her left and Pa on Stanford's other side. They sat with other businessmen and professors, people who, by no means, were princes or governors, but people with enough money to seem important, or at least pretend to be important.

As champagne and water was being poured by butlers and waiters, Pa made his first move with a tiny, sly smile. "So, Ms. Cece, tell us of the combinations in steerage. I hear they're good on _Titanic_."

Stanford froze. Of course his father was clever enough to detect that Hephzibah wasn't a first-class passenger.

Hephzibah, however, found herself more comfortable. She had no idea how to dress or how to act at a first-class dinner, but she did know what to say and do in these types of situations. She had a lifetime of practice under her belt. "Oh, they're the best I've seen, Mr. Pines. Hardly any rats."

The whole table gave a little laugh at her joke. Even Pa managed to hum a chuckle as he laid his napkin down.

"So, you're joining us from the third-class?" An older gentleman on Stanley's other side asked politely.

"Yes, sir," Hephzibah said with a kind smile and chatted with the man who had addressed her. "I had the pleasure of meetin' Stanford here last night while out enjoyin' the star-filled sky."

"It turns out that Ms. Cece is well educated for…" Stanford stopped. He had intended to outshine her best qualities, not bring into light her setbacks. Hephzibah waited for him to finish with a neutral facial expression, as well as anyone else who cared to listen. "... for someone of limited resources." Stanford concluded with.

Hephzibah chuckled. "Go ahead, ya can say it. I'm a poor ex-slave. I'm not ashamed."

"An ex-slave." Pa repeated calmly. "Really?"

"Yes, sir." Hephzibah answered and all ears were on her. "I was born a slave in Ireland n' was one until my grandfather n' I earned our freedom."

"I see."

"Well, I do apologize for your unfortunate background and upbringing," The older gentleman next to Stanley said after sipping his drink. "But, for what it's worth, you seem to have become a brilliant young lady."

"Why, thank ya, sir," Hephzibah said as she sipped her water. "But all the credit goes to my grandfather who is now one of God's good angels."

The topic then shifted to parents and grandparents, the old gentleman talking of his father's humble beginnings and how be climbed his way to the top with a factory that doubled in time and was passed to him. Hephzibah allowed the conversation to go on without her input and she looked down at her silverware and plates. On her left were three different forks, all different sizes, and on her right were two knives, a big spoon, a little fork, and a tiny wooden spoon. She also had two plates that were stacked on top of each other and a roll of bread on her upper right corner.

"Is this all for me?" Hephzibah hissed to Stanford as they listened to another man's story about his grandfather finding his family's small company.

"Simply start from the outside and work your way towards the plate." Stanford whispered back.

Hephzibah glanced up to see if Stanford's advice followed, and it did. People were starting with the little fork for caviar or munching on fancy cookies and crackers. Hephzibah nibbled on one cookie with much restraint (she hadn't eaten all day and was starving and wanted to eat the cookie in one bite, but knew better), and listened, entertained as everyone was now talking about where they were from.

"And where do you live, Ms. Cece?" Pa asked, pulling the misfit back into the spotlight.

With all eyes on her, Hephzibah said with a proud smile, "Well, I'm blessed to be livin' on God's green Earth like everyone else, Mr. Pines, but I suppose for now my address is Room 618 on the grand _RMS Titanic_. After that I'm wherever my feet can carry me."

"You travel alone?" Pa sneered into his glass champagne.

"Yes, sir, though I'm happy to say I've met some amazin' people among my travels who make the days less lonely." And her eyes darted to Stanford, making him blush, this being unknown to everyone but Stanley.

"And how do you have the means to travel?" Pa asked.

"Oh, well ya see my legs work just fine, sir, as well as the trains n' boats."

Another ripple of laughter came across the table and Stanford smiled into his drink, pleased that the meal was going as well as it can be expected.

"However, I should admit that I won my ticket here at a lucky hand of poker." Hephzibah added.

"Ah." The older gentleman said. "All life is a game of luck."

Pa shook his head as he lowered his glass. "Mm, a real man makes his own living, Mr. Archibald, so I guess that excludes you, Ms. Cece."

Stanford and Stanley exchanged strained looks from their seats.

Hephzibah, however, never faltered or lost her confidence. "I find it shallow to think that all ya need to make your own livin' is male genitalia, Mr. Pines."

Stanley snorted into his champagne while the table burst into laughter.

Pa's face turned red. "I guess a Negro like yourself would find that kinda ruthless existence appealing." He sneered.

The laughter died. Hephzibah's courage, on the other hand, did not.

"Why, yes, sir, I do." She said proudly and bit into her roll, extremely hungry and unwilling to continue talking without more food in her body. "I consider myself blessed to wake up in the mornin' at all. I don't care if I wake up in silk sheets or in hay or on the cold dirt. I've got everythang I need: music in my soul, air in my lungs, n' a mind eager to learn n' see n' hear more every day. It doesn't matter if you're a man or woman, white or black, rich or poor. We're all human n' we're all mortal. Life's a gift n' I don't plan on wastin' mine. Ya never know when your last day is. My Grandpa used to say to treat each day like it's your last, cuz it may very well be. I never know what's gonna happen to me, n' I love it. Just last night I was sleepin' in a run-down hotel room, n' the night before that I fell asleep with the stars as my ceilin', n' now here I am surrounded by good friends n' good food. I consider myself very blessed n' very lucky, not cuz I'm covered in diamonds or am branded with lighter skin, but cuz I'm livin'."

"Well said, young lady, well said!" A black-haired man with a beard said across the table.

"I say, you should go into parliament!" Mr. Archibald remarked.

Hephzibah chuckled, color rising to her cheeks, and picked up her glass.

Stanford raised his glass, seeing an opportunity in front of him. "To being blessed for living."

The table copied him. "To being blessed for living." And they all toasted to Hephzibah's philosophy.

The rest of the dinner pressed forward without subtle conflict. Stanford worried if Hephzibah would put herself out there too much, but she was clever. She only spoke when spoken to, though it seemed there were two types of guests at the table: those who thought engaging Hephzibah in conversation was like opening a can of worms and those who couldn't wait to hear her speak again. Hephzibah answered whatever she was asked and talked politely, but when she wasn't doing that she was eating as much as she could politely and listening carefully. Stanford found that he enjoyed her company immensely and was grateful that she could have joined them for dinner.

After dessert had been served and Hephzibah had finished a thin slice of the best cake she had ever had, Stanley began to tell a story of when he and his brother were kids, it being extremely comedic and making everyone laugh with aching ribs and watery eyes. Stanford also laughed, remembering this particular moment in his childhood, and he smiled a little bigger when he saw Hephzibah laughing and wiping her eyes dry with her napkin.

"... so I didn't tell Ma I hid Shermie's pants in the stove, Ford's got his nose in a book, and Ma bends down and lights a fire!" Stanley paused a moment for laughter so no one would miss what happened next. "Shermie suddenly realizes what's going on, runs into the kitchen, and screams, 'MA! MY PANTS ARE ON FIRE!' And that's how Ma knew Shermie was lying about taking Old Man Crampelter's petunias, and I got off the hook!"

The whole table laughs loudly; a few men even clap, and one bangs the table with his hand. Stanley sipped his champagne smugly. Stanford was reminded, once more, why Pa allowed Stanley to come along to things like this. While Pa could use Stanford to show off how intelligent he was, Pa could use Stanley to charm anyone he wanted with funny stories, quick jokes, and a cocky attitude. Pa may never be impressed with Stanley, but clearly everyone else was.

Feeling that the end of the meal was drawing near, Stanford leaned over to whisper to Hephzibah. "The men will go to the smoking room for brandy soon any minute now."

Right on cue, Mr. Archibald stood and kissed his wife's hand farewell. "Well, join me for a brandy, gentlemen?"

There was a chorus of agreement and Hephzibah snorted a little. Stanford rolled his eyes on his own accuracy and added, "Now they will sit in a cloud of smoke and congratulate each other on their accomplishments."

"Since when is being a pompous asshole an accomplishment?" Hephzibah hissed.

Stanford choked on his water. Men were standing, as well as Pa, and so did Hephzibah.

"Joining us, Ms. Cece?" One man asked with a raised eyebrow and a bit of amusement in his voice, like he was talking to a child who wanted to join the grown-ups.

Hephzibah chuckled. "No, sir, I gotta be headin' back."

"May I escort you back, Ms. Cece?" Stanford offered. He knew she was more than capable of returning to the third-class section of the _Titanic_ by herself, but in actuality he was looking for a reason not to be flaunted like a first-place trophy by his own father in the smoking room. Still, Stanford knew the likelihood of Hephzibah accepting the offer was minimal.

And yet, she surprised him. "Ya may." Hephzibah said with a smile.

"Well, good of you to join us, Ms. Cece." Pa said and dipped his head to her. "Stanley, coming?"

"Sure, why not?" Stanley said and followed his father out of the dining hall, but not before turning around and throwing his twin a quick wink.

Stanford blushed, unsure of what his brother was suggesting, but quickly recovered and offered Hephzibah his arm. She took it, and they began to talk quietly to each other as they left for the staircase they had met at.

"I'm sorry about Pa."

"I'm used to it."

"You shouldn't have to be."

Hephzibah looked at him with a crooked smile. "What about ya, Stanford? Are ya livin' each day like it's your last?"

Stanford looked onward as his mind sunk back to his darkest thoughts. He had shared them with no one, not even Stanley, but here, in the midst of it all, someone was asking him. It was like someone had finally heard his internal screaming. "No. But I want to."

"Why don't ya?"

"What am I supposed to do?" Stanford growled more to himself than Hephzibah. "All I've ever done is work and crawl and climb for something better than what I have now. All I've ever tried to do is make a name for myself and my family so we can have the life we deserve."

"Well, what does that life look like?" Hephzibah asked and waved a white-gloved hand to the atmosphere that surrounded them. "All of this?"

"What else would it look like?" Stanford dared to ask, betting that Hephzibah didn't have an answer. Oh, how wrong he was.

Hephzibah grinned. "I've got an idea." And she took his arm in both of her hands and dragged him to the third-class section of the _Titanic_.

The third-class party was more crowded, louder, and drunker, and yet, despite the stench of sweat, the loud noise that flooded his ears, and the poorer conditions the people were in, Stanford was happier here than he ever would be back in first-class.

He sat on a crate by a table full of glasses of beer, watching Hephzibah dance with a little boy with flaming red hair and dark freckles. She twirled the boy, still in her dark-green dress, but her dreadlocks were down in her favored ponytail and her long, white gloves were missing. She also looked far happier, her smile genuine and no longer fake. Stanford clapped along to the music, his own gloves gone and his six fingers exposed unashamedly. The music was unlike anything he had ever heard. It was a mixture if Irish, Scottish, and British, people from all over Europe playing their prized possessions so others could dance and play. Crowds of men and women did dance lines, pairs jigged together, and others happily chatted and drank beer like it was water.

Stanford had a pair of Germans trying to talk to him, but it was too loud and their accents were too thick to understand them. Maybe if it wasn't so loud he could talk, but for now Stanford was happy to watch Hephzibah pick up the boy and swing him, holding him by her hips as he laughed joyfully into the humid air. Stanford paused his clapping to slip off his suit jacket and leave on his dress-shirt. If the man who always wore sweaters and layers was getting hot, you knew it was scolding in the vast, crowded room. Stanford caught sight of Fiddleford, who was dancing with a young lady, and gave him a thumbs-up when their eyes met. Fiddleford winked at him, his hands busy holding the lady, and the couple danced on.

The song ended and the crowd stopped dancing to applaud the musicians. Hephzibah put the boy down and he kissed her hand in thanks. One old drum-player commanded the musicians in several languages to play a faster tune, and the next song began.

"I'm gonna dance with him, now, okay?" Hephzibah asked the little boy, who nodded, and stepped aside. Hephzibah reached out her hand towards Stanford. "C'mon."

Stanford's eyes widened. "W-What?"

"Come dance with me." Hephzibah requested.

"N-No. I'm sorry, but no."

"Oh, c'mon!" Hephzibah grabbed his hand and pulled the light-skinned man up on the dancefloor.

"Hephzibah! Wait!" Stanford and she were still. "I… I can't dance."

"Yes, ya can." Hephzibah insisted. "Just get closer to me, like this." She got closer, grabbed one of his hands, and she had his hand hold her by the waist. She detected that daggers were being glared at them and she looked back at the boy, who was now sitting on Stanford's crate. "You're still my best man, Jack."

The red-headed boy shrugged with a small smile and clapped along to the music, watching Hephzibah and Stanford slowly escalate and dance among the crowd.

"I don't know this dance, Hephzibah!"

"Neither do I, Stanford, just have fun!"

"Hephzibah, wait! Wait!" But Stanford couldn't keep from laughing. His chuckling turned into a jolly laugh that couldn't be contained in his chest and when Hephzibah was laughing, too, he knew he was doing something right and began to lead.

"Look at ya, Mr. I-Can't-Dance!" Hephzibah laughed.

Gaining confidence and seeing others move towards a little stage to dance, Stanford led them to that and separated from Hephzibah to take part of the fun activity. Stanford pocketed his hands in his dress pants and began to do a jig with his sharp shoes. Hephzibah looked up and down him, impressed by his hidden talent as he danced well to the music. Hephzibah held her long dress up, revealing her boots, and jigged against Stanford. It soon escalated into a small dance fight with no real winner, seeing that when the music got faster in tempo, people starting locking arms and dosey-doeing. Stanford and Hephzibah did the same, escalating until Stanford scooped Hephzibah up and spun on the spot, both of them laughing and they didn't stop until the music stopped, and then Stanford let Hephzibah down and then leaned on her for support as he breathed heavy, dizzy from the quick spinning.

"You're just a right little liar, aren't ya, Stanford?" Hephzibah laughed as she helped Stanford walk off the stage for a seat.

"It runs in the family." Stanford huffed, thinking of Stanley. He then pitied his brother, seeing how he was probably dying of boredom in the smoking room back at first-class, meanwhile Stanford was having the time of his life.

Hephzibah gave him a beer and they sat and drank, talking as much as they could above the noise and loud music. It was like how they spent their time together before the visit to the library. Hephzibah was just so easy to talk to. She told stories of her travels, Stanford told stories of his misadventures with Stanley. At one point, Fiddleford sat and joined them for beer and they exchanged jokes and fun riddles and puns.

Stanford glanced away when Fiddleford told a really awful pun that made Hephzibah groaned in misery, and Stanford's eyes doubled in size when he saw his brother climbing down the stairs and gazing around the room.

"Stan!" Stanford called and stood up. "Stan, over here!" Stanley saw Stanford's waving and joined him at the table. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm supposed to be asking you the same question." Stanley answered with a smile and crossed his arms over his chest. "Pa sent me after you."

Stanford winced. If Pa found out he had weaseled himself out of the smoking room, a perfect chance to brag about his academic success, to go to a third-class party when they were working so hard for a "better life", he would be in tremendous trouble. "Are you going to tell him?"

"Hell no, Ma didn't raise a snitch!" Stanley said, looking slightly offended that Stanford would even consider that a possibility. "Wherever we go, we go together, Sixer. I just wish I had followed your lead and had never gone to that boring hellhole. I nearly died in there!"

Stanford rolled his eyes and handed his brother a glass of beer. "Have a seat, there's someone I would like you to meet."

Stanley shook hands with Fiddleford and quickly liked the guy. At one point in the conversation, Fiddleford dared to challenge who was stronger: Stanley or Stanford. Stanford claimed he was, because he was older (by fifteen minutes, Stanley informed the table). Stanley claimed he was, because he wasn't a wimp like his brother. Hephzibah claimed there was only one way to settle this, so the twins agreed and began to arm-wrestle by glasses of beer. They were still as statues for a few minutes, evenly matched by the looks of it, until a little girl accidentally ran by Stanley and bumped his shoulder; this gave Stanford enough leverage to pin his brother's arm down and splash beer everywhere. Groaning and cheering erupted, as a little group of men had joined them, and one man took Stanley's seat and challenged Stanford to an arm-wrestling match.

Stanford actually proved to be pretty good at arm-wrestling. Stanley stood behind him and cheered him on, as well as Fiddleford and Hephzibah, while others cheered the opposing man, all were competing good-heartedly with no real penalty for losing and no real gain for winning. Stanford beat two other men and then it became a fun challenge to try to find someone that could beat Stanford. He was humble and only sipped his beer with a sheepish grin. The gang of men were surprised when Hephzibah sat across from Stanford and held her hand up.

"Gimme your best shot!" She growled with a sexy smile.

Stanford, after his shock wore off, grinned maliciously and was ready to beat another competitor. He took her hand and they began to try to pin the other down. They hadn't even been competing for thirty seconds, however, when Hephzibah leaned forward, kissed Stanford on the lips quickly, and used his shock to her advantage and pinned his arm with no resistance. The men around the table busted up laughing at Hephzibah's trick, even Stanley and Fiddleford, but Stanford stared at her in amazement, not only for her cleverness, but because he liked her kiss. He really liked her kiss. And he wanted to kiss her again.

No! No, she was a great friend, no doubt about that, but there was nothing there! Nothing could happen, and nothing would happen! A black can't be with a white! A poor girl can't be with a man destined to be one of the greatest minds of all of history! No, there was no future for them.

The music picked up and people started to do a line. Someone grabbed Fiddleford's hand and he grabbed Hephzibah's hand and she grabbed Stanford's hand and he grabbed Stanley's hand. They all laughed at the top of their lungs through the musty air and danced the night away.


	4. Chapter 4

Stanford had a small headache. He was no lightweight, but he had consumed a lot of beer last night. It seemed like when the glass was empty, another would be put into his hand, and who was he to deny a free drink? Still, the coffee was helping, and after some food and a quiet morning of studying, he was sure he would feel fine. Stanford already felt much more comfortable in his sweater-vest, dress-shirt, and trenchcoat with dress-pants. Stanley must have felt the same threatening hangover, because he rubbed his eyes and forehead with each yawn at the breakfast table, nicely dressed in a suit with a red tie. Pa was behind a newspaper, his usual morning routine, and so it was easy for his sons to exchange looks and talk without a word. One thing was clear between the two: they hadn't had that much fun since Stanford's studies had increased.

Pa let down his newspaper with a harsh crinkle and his sons knew what that meant; he wanted to talk. "You two were out late last night."

Stanford garted his eyes to his twin and then down to his cup of coffee before sipping it nervously, trying to mask his rising anxiety.

"Huh. I didn't know this ship had a curfew." Stanley said sarcastically in a futile attempt to lighten the mood. "Did you, Ford?"

"You two were with that Negro, weren't you?" Pa growled. "That ex-slave down at the third-class bunkers."

"So?" Stanley asked in a quieter tone, on the line between respectful and questioning his father's reasoning. "What's wrong with making friends? What's wrong with going to a party?"

"What's wrong is that you two are deliberately backtracking from all of our hard work!" Pa snapped. "We've worked too hard to get here and are on the verge of becoming something greater, and you two wanna throw it all away for some beer and a worthless Negro!"

"Hephzibah is not worthless!" Stanford said. He could take the insults, he was used to them, but Hephzibah should never be insulted like that, even if she wasn't in the room. "She's intelligent, courageous, and beautiful."

Pa glared at his son behind his sunglasses. "Stanford Pines, all of your life I've tried to shape you up into the man I knew you could be and give you the best chance at a successful life. You have too much potential to settle for so little. Not only do you owe it to yourself, but you owe it to me and your family. It's because of your mother and I that you and your worthless disappointment of a twin even exist. We're so close to getting it all and making millions, so don't you think for one second that I'm gonna allow either of you to ruin this. You two aren't allowed to even see that Negro anymore, and if you know what's good for you, you'll obey me like your life depends on it, because it does. Am I clear?"

Stanford and Stanley were silent and still, the only sound being the crashing of the sea against the boat and the only movement being the breeze flowing the curtains thanks to the open windows. Neither of them had an argument. They knew this was the protocol from the beginning; the lesson that they owed Pa their lives had been shoved down their throats since they were children. There was no point arguing with Pa, so they both nodded solemnly and said at the same time, "Yes, sir."

Pa then stood up, rolled up his newspaper, and left, the room ten degrees colder now than when it was at the beginning of the meal.

* * *

Stanford didn't know what made him do it, but he looked for Hephzibah, again. He should be in the library and studying, he should be in his room and writing in his journal, he should be watching the sea or playing pool in the game room or even joining Stanley in the gym, but Pa's threats at breakfast only further drove Stanford to see Hephzibah again. He was hooked, and he couldn't just walk away.

He should. Moses knows Stanford should walk away and leave Hephzibah behind. Get off the _Titanic_ when it docks and forget Hephzibah and Fiddleford and the fun he had and the talks he shared with Hephzibah and the dreams they exchanged and the way his heart pounded when she kissed him, but how can someone just forget something like that? There are just some things you can't walk away from, because there are some things that only happen once in your life. Hephzibah said to live each day like it's your last. Well, if the unsinkable ship does sink and they all die, Stanford wants to die knowing he lived his last day to the fullest. That mind set, and the unspoken challenge to disobey his father, sent Stanford out looking for Hephzibah.

Stanford checked the third-class section first, all but the living quarters, but he never saw her. He then checked the section in which all passengers were allowed. He even checked the library, but she wasn't there. He searched that large vessel all day for her, but didn't find her, even as the sun started to set into the afternoon. Stanford collapsed into a bench on the first-class section when he had wandered back. It seemed like having Stanley cover for him had been a wasted request. Stanford held his head in his polydactyl hands. Where the hell was Hephzibah?! His heart skipped a beat. Had Pa somehow…

"Lemme go!"

"Ma'am, please, you're not allowed here."

"I know, but I just need to see someone! It's important!"

"Ma'am, I have to see to it that you're back where you belong!"

"No, please, just lemme…"

Stanford looked up from the floor and down the dock. Just outside the gate that cut off the first-class passengers from the rest of the boat, Hephzibah was being held by the wrists by two crew members and a third was barking orders. Stanford jumped up and ran. "Hey! Let her go!" He yelled and joined them as they calmed down and stared at Stanford.

"Stanford…"

"Mr. Pines, I…"

"It's fine. She's with me." Stanford opened the gate and walked out of the first-class only section and motioned for Hephzibah to join her. "Let her go _now_."

The two men obeyed at the nod of the third and Hephzibah hurried with him. She was back in her dirty, puffy white shirt, brown pants, and black boots, her jacket and shawl missing for it was too warm in the Spring day to wear the extra clothing.

"Where the hell have you been?" Stanford hissed.

"Lookin' for ya, ya idiot." Hephzibah growled quietly. "We need to talk."

"I agree. Follow me."

Stanford walked quickly with Hephzibah behind him. They went back to the library and closed the double-doors behind them, then they went deeper into the library, all the way to the back wall, which was lined with books. When they were sure they were alone, Hephzibah spoke first.

"I saw Stan. He told me what your father said. Is it true?"

Stanford swallowed. This was certainly not what he expected to hear from her. He hesitated. "I… what did he tell you?"

"A lot, actually." Hephzibah said quietly. "Then again, I kinda milked him for all he's worth when he got to the details. Did your father really tell ya ya owe him?"

Stanford tried to stand his ground with a straight back. "Yes. It's true. He's said that to us since we were children. While he is wrong and I know I don't owe him anything…"

"Do ya?" Hephzibah dared to ask. "Do ya know that? Or has he brainwashed ya into thinkin' ya have no way out n' that's why I found ya danglin' off the edge of the _Titanic_?"

Stanford's heart threatened to stop. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Follow your own orders."

"Hephzibah," Stanford sighed in an exasperated tone. He ran a hand through his brown hair, making it even more fluffy and frizzy, and then he added, "Look, when you found me, I… a few minutes prior I was tempted to let go, but by the time you found me I had convinced myself not to. Being crushed against the _Titanic_ or freezing is not an ideal way of dying. Not to mention the fact that I can't leave my family like that, especially Stanley."

"But what made ya even think 'bout it to begin with?" Hephzibah asked.

Stanford sighed again, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders, and sat on a velvet couch that was hidden in the little corner of books the two were talking in. "It was… a combination of things. There is so much pressure on me, Hephzibah. It's suffocating. It constantly feels like an elephant is sitting on my chest. My family is depending on me to make it big, to make millions, and to continue to do things like this." He gestured a hand to the whole library, indicating this luxurious trip on the _Titanic_. "I… I started to crack under the pressure, but I managed to be stronger than all of the pressure and I talked myself out of it before you even showed up."

"I know what that's like." Hephzibah said quietly and sat next to Stanford, on his right side. "I was freed when I was eight-years-old. I still remember what it was like before. I know what it's like to be enslaved, to be without freedom. It's enough to kill, if ya let it."

"I'm not a slave."

"No, but you're still not free."

Stanford opened his mouth to retaliate, but Hephzibah had hit the nail right on the head. He held his head and allowed the silence to ligner, that is until Hephzibah broke it.

"Look, Stanford, I'm not an idiot, okay? I know how the world works. I know I shouldn't even be in the same room as ya. I was born a slave n' am only standin' here out of sheer luck. I have ten bucks in my pocket, no family, no redeemin' qualities that men usually look for in women when wife-huntin' like a nice piece of furniture, but…" Hephzibah was stumbling over her words. Stanford stared at her, completely shocked by what she was hinting at, but before he could ask for clarification, she resumed her monologue. "But I can't leave. I won't leave ya until I know you'll be okay. I care 'bout ya too much to leave. I can't even… I… I know you'll hate me, n' ya should, n' I know ya have no reason to want me 'round, but… but the fact is… I… I love ya too much to let ya go so easily, Stanford."

Stanford was floored. It was a miracle he hadn't fainted. He had hardly known her for two days, and now she… and now he had… "Hephzibah, I… you… I... My IQ is 125. I've passed exams that some college professors can only dream to achieve a D on. The best universities in the world are competing for my attendance as we speak for this upcoming fall. I know that I… I… if I keep this up, I could have anything anyone has ever wanted, but the truth is… I don't want it. Maybe I did or maybe I thought I did, but… but not anymore."

"Well, there's a simple question ya gotta ask yourself, Ford. What do ya want?" Hephzibah asked solemnly.

Stanford swallowed gingerly, worrisome of rejection, but apparently, so was she. The light-skinned young man took in a deep breath and answered the most important question he had ever been asked. "Above everything else, I know with the most certainly that you make me happier than any amount of money or any award or any recognition ever could. I know I shouldn't and I know I could have more, but I don't want more. I want _you_. Hephzibah Cece… I… I want to spend every day of my life loving you like it's my last day with you."

Now it was Hephzibah's turn to be nearly speechless. "Stanford…"

The man blushed. "It doesn't make any sense, does it?"

The woman smiled and slowly raised a hand to the side of his face. Stanford allowed Hephzibah to cup his cheek into her hand and she gently rubbed his skin with her thumb. "No. That's why I trust it. I love you, too, Stanford."

Stanford slowly put his hands on her waist, not having a clue what he was doing, but he must have been doing something right, because they both leaned forward and kissed.

This wasn't like their first last night, a quick peck on the lips in order to win a game. Hephzibah had done it all. This time, it was slow, gentle, and they were both part of the act. They overlapped their lips again and again, sweet and gentle but with powerful emotion behind each movement. They slowly pulled away and opened their eyes, still holding each other. They were afraid of the outcome, but they couldn't turn away. They just _couldn't_.

They heard footsteps and jumped away. Hephzibah laid on the couch and grabbed a nearby book, pretending to read, while Stanford stood by a shelf and pretended to browse. Running footsteps promised them that someone was looking for them, and sure enough, Fiddleford appeared and breathed in relief when he saw Hephzibah.

"Hephzie! We need ya in one of the bunkers!" Fiddleford yelled in a state of panic.

Hephzibah stood up. "What's wrong?"

"It's Mrs. Mary Walsh! She's in labor! She started havin' pains a little after lunch n' prayed it was nothin', but it's not!"

"Lead the way!"

Stanford followed Hephzibah and Fiddleford out of the library and down to the third-class bunkers. "You know how to deliver a baby?"

"I helped Grandma deliver babies all the time back on the slave-ran farm." Hephzibah explained as they hurried. "I've delivered dozens more on my travels. I wanted to be a doctor, but that was out of the question."

"Just down here." Fiddleford elaborated. "Everyone's in a state o' panic! Men are freakin' out n' the women are too busy helpin' their children calm down t'help Mrs. Walsh!"

"Alright, alright, we'll sort this out, Fidds." Hephzibah said and followed him down the hall for a lien of bedrooms.

Fiddleford opened the bedroom door for the three of them and they were greeted by a yell of pain from Mrs. Welsh. Her daughter was by her side and trembling, holding her mother's hand and trying not to cry. Mrs. Welsh was lying in bed and trying not to yell, but clearly she was going through a contraction and it was hard to contain her pain.

"Mrs. Welsh, I'm Hephzibah. We met a few days ago." She said and sat on the foot of the bed. "I'm gonna do everythang I can to help ya. I've done this before many times. You're gonna be just fine, I promise."

Mrs. Welsh swallowed as the contraction ended and nodded weakly. Her daughter kissed her hand.

"Leah, sweetheart, why don't ya go with Mr. McGucket. I bet ya two can play a fun game while ya wait for your little brother or sister to get here." Hephzibah suggested calmly.

Fiddleford smiled and took the girl's hand. "C'mon, Sweet Pea. Where's that ole top we found the other day?"

The two left the room and Hephzibah turned to Stanford. "Can ya get me a big bowl of water, soap or disinfectant, some towels or cloth, n' a pair of scissors or a knife?"

Stanford nodded, eager to help but he also didn't want to be in the room. "I'll be quick." He swore and left the room.

He bolted down the hall like a rocket, out of the third-class section, and into his own living quarters, which was more like a small apartment than a lavish suite. Short of breath but wasting no time, Stanford grabbed a stack of fluffy towels from the bathroom and also found a dish full of tiny hand soaps and a pair of scissors for haircuts. He pocketed the scissors and soaps in his trenchcoat. Stanford threw the towels in an armchair when the door opened and Stanley walked in, wearing boxing shorts and shoes, clearly having just left the gym.

"Whoa, what in Moses's name are you…"

"Stanley! There isn't much time! I need your help!" Stanford yelled as he rummaged through the cabinets for a bowl. He found more towels in a big, nice, wooden bowl, dumped the towels out and put them on the shelf, and ran with the bowl to the sink.

"Uh, sure." Stanley said with a shrug. "What's got your underwear in a knot?"

"Take this!" Stanford said and shoved the large bowl of water in his twin's hands. "We need to get down to the third-class living quarters quickly!"

"Uh, okay." After a lifetime with Stanford, Stanley had learned that sometimes it was best to just go with it.

The twins hurried back to the room Stanford had just left and found that two other women had joined Hephzibah and Mrs. Welsh. Clearly it was easier to be on board with helping if someone was around to take charge.

"Good, you're back." Hephzibah said and took the stack of towels. "Mrs. Taylor get some drinking water, n' Ms. Evans get plenty of warm blankets for the baby."

"The WHAT?!" Stanley gasped, finally realizing what he was in the midst of.

"Y'all need to go." Hephzibah said to the two men.

"No, Hephzibah," Stanford said firmly. "We can help! Just tell us what to do."

"I'll need more hands when the baby gets here, but for the sake of Mrs. Walsh's privacy n' your innocence, please wait outside."

"No problem!" Stanley yelled and ran out of the room.

Stanford rolled his eyes and closed the door behind him. Stanley was sitting by the door, his eyes scrunched up closed and his hands over his ears like a child. Stanford laughed and sat next to him. "Stan, what are you going to do when you get married and your wife has a baby?"

"I'll be in the next room passing out cigars like every other man in the world." Stanley answered, opening his eyes and letting his hands drop. "Don't tell me you're going to be high and mighty and be in the room when your kids are born. Oh, wait, you're never having kids." He said mockingly. Stanford had always claimed that he would never have any children of his own.

Stanford shrugged. "Maybe I will."

The conversation was paused when Ms. Evans ran back with a stack of folded blankets in her hands and Stanford stood to open the door for her and close it behind her. When he sat back down, Stanley punched his shoulder.

"Well, look like someone's finally gonna make me an uncle!"

"What about Shermie?"

"That loser is never gonna get me a niece or nephew."

A loud scream came from the room and the men jumped. They didn't even realize until it already happened that they were hugging each other, but they were shaking too much and they were alone, so who cared? They held each other tightly as more screams came from the room.

Stanford breathed out deeply to try to steady his racing heart. "It's funny. Men are always portrayed as heroes for women, but when it really counts, we can't do anything."

Mrs. Taylor came back with a pitcher of clean water to drink and Stanley stood up to open the door for her. He accidently had a look inside the room, yelled, slammed the door, and sat back down next to Stanford and wrapped his arms by his knees, resting his forehead on his joints.

"Holy Moses, what was that baby doing to that poor woman?!" Stanley moaned.

Stanford rubbed his back and listened.

It seemed like a few minutes of silence came upon them. If Stanford really strained to listen, he could hear moaning and heavy breathing, and then nothing. Stanley even lifted his head and listened carefully. They heard nothing. Their hearts threatened to stop, silently praying to God to hear the blissful sound of…

They heard a small slapping sound and then a weak cry that grew stronger with every passing second. The men both sighed in relief once they heard that newborn wail and they smiled at each other. There was a new passenger on the _Titanic_.

Hephzibah opened the door and looked down at the twins. "Guys, you'll wanna see this."

Stanley and Stanford stood up and entered the room while Hephzibah got back to work. Mrs. Welsh laid on the bottom bunk, coated in sweat, but she was glowing with joy as she grinned at her baby, who was crying and being washed gently by Mrs. Taylor. Hephzibah then took the baby, who was a boy, and wrapped him in a towel to get dry and handed him to his mother. Mrs. Welsh kissed his forehead and cradled the baby boy in her arms while Mrs. Taylor took the bowl of bloody water out of the room and Ms. Evans was folding dirty towels and stacking them, but the men were blind to the blood, their eyes glued to the newborn baby.

Hephzibah smiled and said, "He's perfect. He's healthy n' a strong fellow. Leah's got a wonderful baby brother."

"A boy." Stanley breathed and held his head. "Sweet Lord, a boy…"

"Thank you very much, Ms. Cece, for your help." Mrs. Welsh said shakingly. "If there's anything…"

"No, ma'am," Hephzibah interrupted. "All life is precious n' worth protectin' n' helpin'. I just wanna know the fellow's name."

"Walter, after his father. Walter Welsh."

Hephzibah smiled at the sound of the handsome name and then turned to leave the mother alone with her baby and tell Leah and Fiddleford that the baby had been born and that the mother would be fine. Stanford and Stanley lingered for a moment, mesmerized by the scene before them. Stanford knew why Hephzibah wanted them to see this. It was a great reminder that life is precious, that every life should be lived to the fullest, and that all life should be protected and cared for in any way possible.

Stanford and Stanley had to make way for Fiddleford, Hephzibah, and little Leah when they arrived and the girl hopped to the side of the bed and awed at his baby brother.

Fiddleford smiled. "Sweet Sarsaparilla, he's beautiful, Mrs. Welsh."

"Thank you."

"C'mon, boys, let's leave 'em alone." Hephzibah said and led the men out of the room.

Once they were out in the hall Fiddleford sighed with relief and thanked Hephzibah a million times for taking care of the situation. She waved the gratitude away and claimed that she was happy to help. When he knew he was no longer needed, still in his boxing shorts and having no shirt on as the Arctic atmosphere got cold as the sun went down, Stanley went back to his living quarters for a bath and Fiddleford needed a drink. Hephzibah and Stanford, however, walked around the boat and talked some more.

They eventually sat on a bench in the second-class area of the _Titanic_, watching the sun set, and Hephzibah shared her dream to be a doctor and help women deliver babies safely. "If I'm bein' honest, though, I'm happy to travel the world n' see n' do more."

"You've been everywhere." Stanford admired. "Where else do you plan to go?"

"I'd love to see America, travel the whole country. Really, any place new I'd love to see it." Hephzibah sighed happily, at peace with the idea of a life of adventure, and she asked as she leaned on her hand, her arm resting on the back of the bench. "So, Ford, what're your plans?"

Stanford shrugged. "My plan was to go to a university and make my own discoveries that would put me in the ranks of Isaac Newton and Charles Darwin, but now… I don't think I want that."

"Well, what do ya want?"

Stanford looked out to the sea, watching the sun sink into the ocean like a fallen toy. "I love boats. I love sailing."

Hephzibah smiled and chuckled a little, amused but encouraging of his passion. "Really?"

Stanford nodded with a soft smile. "When we were children, Stanley and I dreamed of sailing around the world, hunting for treasure and being an unstoppable team or adventurers. Discovering new lands and new creatures, waking up to a salt air and a soft breeze, feeling the sun every day… that dream started to die when Pa enrolled me in the classes and started to put myself out there, but I think I still want that. I want to see the world, using the ocean as my road, and be as free as the wind that pulls my sails."

"That sounds amazin'." Hephzibah said, as soft as silk, but then snickered. "Though, ya don't seem like the sailor type to me."

Stanford was used to this kind of teasing, growing up with Stanley. He smiled and decided to let Hephzibah shoot him. "How so?"

"For one you're too much of a girl."

"Excuse me?!" Stanford gasped mockingly and put a hand over his heart.

"Oh, c'mon, you're tellin' me you'd be willin' to swear like a sailor?"

"Fucking right, miss."

Hephzibah snorted a quick laugh and sat up on the bench, covering her mouth to muffle her noise. Stanford also laughed and allowed Hephzibah to proceed. "How 'bout smoke tobacco like a sailor?"

"I don't care for tobacco."

"Or spit like a sailor?"

"Now _that_ I can do exceedingly well." Stanford said proudly.

"Show me." Hephzibah challenged.

Stanford grinned, grabbed her hand, and pulled her to the rail of the ship. Hephzibah and Stanford both held the white rail and looked out to the setting sun. Stanford pulled back, cleared his throat, and then pulled forward and spat into the ocean.

"That was pitiful." Hephzibah laughed, and spat into the ocean, a little farther than Stanford.

He laughed and said, "I was being a gentleman and going easy on a lady."

"What, you're sayin' ya can spit farther?"

Stanford leaned back, holding the rail, cleared his throat and built saliva in his mouth, then pulled forward and spat much farther than the previous spit-takes. Hephzibah spat, but didn't make it as far as Stanford. She growled and tried again, but was smiling too much to do an accurate spit.

Stanford laughed, holding his ribs for a moment, and then decided to give her a hand on how to spit like a sailor. "Here, first get some leverage to it, use your arms, and arc your neck, then launch!" And he demonstrated.

Hephzibah followed Stanford's advice and managed to spit farther than him. They competed playfully like children to see who could spit the farthest into the orange and pink sea. In between spits, they laughed and smiled. At one point, Hephzibah overlapped Stanford's left hand with her right, their hands still on the white railing, and all Stanford found he could do was smile. They looked at each other, smiling, and it looked like they might kiss again, but Stanford's eyes caught something ahead: a familiar pair of sunglasses and a fedora.

"Shit." Stanford hissed and let go of Hephzibah and backed away from her. "Pa."


	5. Chapter 5

Hephzibah turned around and saw Stanford's father. It looked like he was out for an evening walk and had not seen them yet, but he would soon. "Shit!" Hephzibah hissed. She grabbed Stanford's hand and started to run with him the other way. "C'mon!"

Stanford squeezed her hand as they ran for their lives, darting in between people and praying they could get away from Pa undetected, but the sudden movement must have caught his eye and he must have sworn he recognized them, because he started to quickly follow them.

"Go, go, go!" Stanford yelled and ran side-by-side with Hephzibah, still holding her hand, into the boat.

They ran into the first-class only section and into the lobby where the grand staircase sat. They ran to the elevators, begging the elevator operator to wait on them as people were leaving the birdcage, and they closed the two doors behind them quickly.

"Down, down, down!"

"Quickly!"

Pa made it just in time to see them go down slowly and slammed his hands on the metal railed doors in frustration. "Stanford PINES!" He growled as he watched his son go down with the black-skinned woman.

Stanford turned pale and, unknowingly, held Hephzibah's hand tighter. She, however, was not afraid and showed Pa her middle finger on her free hand. Stanford started to laugh but held his breath and covered his mouth with his hand, his worry gone for a moment and then Pa was out of sight as the elevator took the teenagers in love down a floor below.

Hephzibah and Stanford laughed as they went down and pushed the doors open before the elevator completely landed, reveling about the look on Pa's face when Hephzibah flipped him off. Down at Deck E, the two held hands and ran for the nearest stairwell down. They ran so hard they both crashed into a trolley full of kettles and hot towels, but they quickly picked themselves back up and yelled their apologies to the worker as they ran away. Stanford and Hephzibah bursted into a hallway and leaned on the wall opposite to the door to breathe and laugh freely, a difficult task for their lungs, but they didn't care.

"Is your father an ex-bounty hunter or somethang?" Hephzibah panted for oxygen.

Stanford huffed a laugh and lifted his glasses up to his eyes, for they were sliding down his sweaty nose. "If I don't make millions, he certainly could as a bounty hunter." He joked and Hephzibah laughed.

They grabbed each other's hands and relaxed for a moment, but then, through the little window on the door the young couple had just been through, they saw someone coming down the staircase.

"RUN!" Stanford yelled and led the way down the hall with Hephzibah in his hand.

Just as Pa ran into the hall, they darted around the corner. They ran to the end of the hall only to find a dead end. Panicking, they ran back a little to a door, and ran in before Pa could catch them. Pa tried to open the door, but he kicked it with rage as it was locked. The teenagers had escaped from him.

Stanford had locked the door and now found himself in a loud room with Hephzibah. They both covered their ears and winced at the high-pitched whistle and the loud noise coming from the engine below them. They looked down at a staircase that seemed to glow with fire like a furnace.

"NOW WHAT?!" Stanford yelled.

"WHAT?!" Hephzibah screamed.

"I SAID 'NOW WHAT'?!"

"WHAT?!"

"I SAID…" Stanford stopped when he saw the gleam in Hephzibah's eye and knew she was joking with him. Stanford grinned and got an idea. He started to climb down the stairwell to the engine of the _Titanic_, and Hephzibah followed him.

They kept on running, not putting it past Pa to somehow break the door down and follow them through the engine of the _RMS Titanic_. Stanford led the way and Hephzibah followed, Stanford's trenchcoat flapping by their legs and Hephzibah's puffy white shirt and dreadlocks bouncing in the quick movement. They ran past lines of workers shoveling coal into the fire and working hard.

"KEEP WORKIN'!"

"EXCUSE US!"

"YOU'RE DOIN' A GREAT JOB!"

"SORRY, GENTLEMEN!"

They ran past a field of steam, saw a door that resembled the gates of heaven to the runaways, and Stanford wrenched it open and they went inside.

He and Hephzibah awed at the crates covered in thick nets that filled the giant room. They walked in after closing the door behind them. Stanford felt a wave of nostalgia, thinking of the pawn shop his family owned back home and the many times he went exploring with his brother. He was reminded of a cave with a wrecked sailboat they once found, that feeling in the gut of excitement, wonder, and amazement. Stanford found that he was happy to share a moment like this with Hephzibah.

"It looks like this is where they keep the cargo and other less personal luggage." Stanford observed as they explored the storage room.

"Wow, look!" Hephzibah ran ahead and Stanford looked to see that she had spotted a car, a really nice, luxurious black car with it's wheel on the right, it being a European model. Hephzibah reached to open the car door to look inside, but Stanford quickly beat her to it.

"Ah, ah!" Stanford opened the door for her and smiled slyly at her. "As long as I am around, you'll never touch another door handle."

Hephzibah chuckled, took his offered hand, and stepped into the car. "Thanks."

Stanford closed the door behind her and she sat, admiring the beautiful interior of the car. She had never been inside a car and admired completing a first. Stanford flicked his trenchcoat up as he sat in the driver's seat. Hephzibah saw that she could lower the window separating the passengers from the driver, so she did so. Stanford honked the horn playfully and Hephzibah chuckled.

"Where to, Ms. Cece?" Stanford asked in a pretend snobbish tone.

Hephzibah sat back in her seat and dug around the pocket of her pants. "Wherever you'll be, that's where I wanna go."

Stanford chuckled under his breath and looked down at his six-fingered hands as they curled around the thin steering wheel. His train of thought hardly left the station when music graced his ears. He turned to find that Hephzibah had pulled out a harmonica and was playing it softly, her eyes closed and her legs stretched across the seat, sitting comfortably in the car.

"You play the harmonica." Stanford stated.

Hephzibah stopped and opened her eyes. She nodded with a smile. "Grandpa gave it to me. It's the only thing I really own aside from the clothes on my back."

"May I see it?"

Hephzibah handed it over to him and Stanford gently took the instrument. This was clearly one that had been loved and used tenderly. He could tell that it was very old, probably as old as the old man had been, and it appeared to be gold that was in need of polishing.

Stanford took a closer look at it and concluded, "Hephzibah, this is pure gold."

"I know."

"You certainly play it well." Stanford complimented as he handed the harmonica back to Hephzibah.

"Thanks." Hephzibah placed the instrument on her lips, closed her eyes, and began to play again.

Stanford sat back in his seat, facing forward, and listened with shut eyes. For awhile, Hephzibah played a soothing lullaby that almost sent Stanford to sleep, but he pulled himself from his daze and opened his eyes. He didn't want to fall asleep like this. While Hephzibah sang through her harmonica, Stanford turned in his seat, his arm on the back of the seat and his cleft chin resting on his limb, his brown eyes sparkling at her. They had never really gotten to finish their discussion at the library, but what Stanford said was true. He knew it wasn't logical and he knew it wasn't allowed, but he had somehow fallen in love with Hephzibah in the little amount of time he knew her. And she loved him, too. And he wanted to do something about it.

"Hephzibah?"

The dark-skinned woman removed the golden instrument from her lips. "Stanford."

"You've asked me many times what I want."

"I seem to be the only one that bothers to do so."

Stanford gave a solemn nod. Stanley might be an exception, but Stanford always gave the same answer so Stanley had stopped asking a long time ago. "I know for certain what I want."

Hephzibah smiled at that, but Stanford could have sworn on his life that her eyes didn't match her lips. While her mouth curled upward and her white teeth showed a little, her eyes didn't sparkle. They looked worrisome that, whatever Stanford wanted, had nothing to do with Hephzibah and meant that she had to disappear. Stanford could have also sworn that she would be willing to do so, even if it hurt her, if it meant he was happy. That made him even more sure that his decision was right.

"And?" Hephzibah led on.

"When this ship docks in New York, I'm getting off with you." Stanford said firmly. He reached over and took Hephzibah's free hand, while her other held her one family heirloom. "I have a little money saved up from working, but most of my earnings as gone to my family. They can keep it, as my last contribution to the household. Stan will be more than willing to come with us, and he's a hard worker and a good man. We'll build a boat - like the one we made as children, the one I told you about? - but it won't be made of scraps of wood or debri we would find on the shore. We will work - I will even get two jobs, or three! - and we will buy material for a real boat, and we'll build it ourselves, small enough to travel easily, but big enough to raise our children on if we want to. We will travel the world, fish for food and extra money, hunt for treasure, make discoveries, and while I'm sure I can do all of that with Stan, I want you by my side… as my wife."

Hephzibah's jaw dropped. "Stanford…"

"Please," He begged and gave her hand a squeeze. "Will you marry me?"

"Stanford, are ya… are ya sure ya want me?"

"More sure than I've been about anything in my life."

Hephzibah smiled with shining eyes, almost like there were tears. Stanford had a hunch that, while no one has ever asked Stanford what he wanted, no one has ever told Hephzibah that she was wanted. "Yes, I'll marry ya."

Stanford grinned as the happiest man in the whole world, leaned forward, and Hephzibah met him in the middle, letting her harmonica fall to the floor of the car. They kissed passionately, a little fiercer than in the library, and when they separated for oxygen, Hephzibah giggled mischievously and pulled Stanford into the car by his underarms. Stanford chuckled, climbed over the seat, and sat on her left side. He held her around the waist and her hands cups either side of his handsome face as the newly engaged couple kissed.

Perhaps spending all day searching for Hephzibah, helping to deliver a baby (who was he kidding, he didn't do anything to help deliver that baby), running from his father, seeing the grand engine of the largest ship in the world, and getting engaged was all a little too much for Stanford, that and the fact that he didn't sleep as well as he should have the night before, for he was suddenly extremely tired. Hephzibah was leaning against the right wall of the car seat, so Stanford leaned on her left side, hugging her like a giant stuffed teddy bear. Hephzibah smiled at that and gentle put a hand on the back of his head, gently urging him to lay on her chest. Stanford did so and could hear her beating heart. He sighed peacefully, the only discomfort coming from having his glasses pushed to his face, but that was solved when Hephzibah slowly removed his glasses, folded them, and let them fall next to the harmonica.

Half-blinded, Stanford got a better idea. He got off of Hephzibah and had her lay her legs on the seat so he could lay on top of her. Stanford also took off his trenchcoat and Hephzibah helped lay it on top of them both, like a blanket, while Stanford laid on top of her, his head over her heart again. Hephzibah put one hand on top of his head and the other on his shoulder. She petted his fluffy brown hair softly, combing her fingers through his hair, and she kissed the top of his head. Stanford had never been held like this, or comforted like this, or loved like this before. He smiled, grabbed the hand that was on his shoulder, kissed it, and soon fell asleep.

* * *

It was April 14th. The _Titanic_ was scheduled to dock in New York on the morning of the 17th. If they could just keep their engagement a secret for three days, then they could run away together. Stanford's plan was to go home with his family when Ma and Shermie came to pick himself, Stanley, and Pa up from the harbor, but while everyone was asleep, the twins would leave New Jersey and go back to New York, where Hephzibah would be waiting. If they could just keep their heads down until then…

Stanford woke up, according to his watch, a little before seven o'clock. He kindly woke Hephzibah up with a kiss so they could sneak back to where they belonged before they were caught in the car. Stanford took Hephzibah to the A La Carte Restaurant and they ignored the glances given to them, a white man with a black woman, a first-class passenger escorting a third-class to breakfast, but they were used to these looks - Stanford for his hands, Hephzibah for her skin - and so they ignored them easily and sipped coffee and munched on sweet muffins. There, they talked of their future and what they could do if they wanted. They were having the necessary conversation of children over their second cup of coffee.

"I've always wanted a big family." Hephzibah shared.

"Really?" Stanford said with a small smile into his china cup full of caffeine.

"I've never had one before. Back on the farm, all the slaves treated each other like family, n' despite the hardships, there was always this great sense of family. I loved my Grandpa, but it got lonely travelin' with just him. I used to dream of havin' brothers n' sisters."

"Siblings are alright, I suppose." Stanford joked as he lowered his cup.

Hephzibah chuckled and munched on a blueberry muffin. "What 'bout ya?"

"To be perfectly honest, I had pushed the idea of children away to make room for my studies, so sure I would never marry, but, as you can see, I was very wrong." Hephzibah gave a sheepish smile and a small shrug before Stanford continued. "The idea of children still… startles me, but I think four is a good number."

"I was thinkin' eight."

"Eight?!"

"Not right now." Hephzibah laughed.

"I did tell you twins run in my family, didn't I?"

"Ya might have mentioned it."

"Oi, Poindexter!" Stanford and Hephzibah both looked at the entrance of the A La Carte Restaurant and Stanley was heading in their direction. He pulled out a chair, sat between them in the circle table, and growled as he pointed to his brother, "You owe me big time."

"How so?"

"Pa's been on my case since he saw you running around the _Titanic_ with Hephzie." Stanley pinched his thumb and pointer finger close together, giving a cenimenter of distance, and added, "He's this close to having the crew make a search party for you both. I've had to lie and say you were in the smoking room, then getting a tour of the engine, then back in our room, then at the bar, then…"

"Alright, I understand." Stanford said. "I'm sorry, Stan, but it'll all be worth it once we dock this ship."

Stanley leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. "Oh, yeah? How?"

Stanford grabbed Hephzibah's hand and grinned at his twin. "We're getting married."

"WHAT?!" Hephzibah and Stanford both shushed him and Stanley actually slapped a hand over his mouth. He leaned forward on the table and hissed with a huge shit-eating grin on his face, "Are you serious?! You're gettin' _married_?!"

"Yes." Stanford hissed. "Remember our plans to sail around the world on a boat? Let's do it. We can all get jobs in New York and work for material, or maybe even buy our own boat. However we obtain it, let's work for a new Stan O' War and sail around the world. We'll treat each day like it's our last and make new discoveries every day. We won't ever be rich and we'll probably never even touch second-class again, but we will all be free. What do you say?"

"I say I'm all in!" Stanley cheered and punched Stanford's shoulder. "Wherever we go, we go together! I can get a job hauling boxes at the docks or something. It won't pay much, but if we all work together…"

"I can wait tables at an inn." Hephzibah said. "If I do that, we can get a room until we get our boat n' the money I can earn can go to food n' such so your money can go to the boat. It'll be hard, but it'll be worth it."

"What about your wedding?" Stanley asked in a quieter voice.

"We'll just go to the courthouse and get married when we can afford the licence and the rings." Stanford explained. "There's no way we can have a real wedding, but we've both agreed that it hardly matters, as long as we're together."

"Wait, Ma has some rings saved up from our grandparents, remember? She said she was waiting to give them to us."

"Ma will never support…"

"She's not Pa."

Stanford nodded in agreement, but decided not to count his chickens before they hatch. "We'll see what happens. For now we just need to keep Pa off our coattails until the ship lands."

"Hell, I've been doing that for two days, I can do it for three more." Stanley said, his voice dripping with determination.

"The second we dock I'll get a job." Hephzibah vowed. "I'll find us a place to stay, n' right before y'all leave, we'll find a place to meet. I'll even see how much my harmonica's worth n' sell it if it's…"

"No, Hephzibah. That harmonica is yours." Stanford said and squeezed her hand. "Don't you ever sell it. We can do it without selling your harmonica. I want you to play it for our family."

"If we're gonna sell stuff, we've got some junk in our room we could sell for a few bucks." Stanley said.

"No, we'll hardly have enough room to pack what we need. Besides, I don't want a cent from our father. If we're going to do this, we'll do this on our own."

Stanley nodded. "I love it, Sixer. We'll do it. We won't be rich, but at least we can eat and be out of that hellhole we call home."

"We will be free." Stanford sighed, full of peace. "We just have to wait three days."


	6. Chapter 6

If Stanford was smart, he would stay away from Hephzibah, at least until the _Titanic_ docked, but though he may be intelligent, he was not wise. He was a fool in love who took the risk of being discovered in order for a few more moments with Hephzibah. After breakfast, it was a game of cat and mouse with Pa; he was the cat, keeping a keen eye and sharp ear out for his rebellious son, and the engaged couple were the mice, scurrying away.

Hephzibah and Stanford hid in the third-class area most of the morning and told Fiddleford of their plans. He was almost as ecstatic as Stanley was and gave Stanford and Hephzibah his deepest congratulations. Fiddleford made them swear to send him letters when this was all over and they happily agreed to keep in touch. After lunch, they went back to the library and hid in the back corner. Hephzibah, again, read to Stanford, sending him into a short nap and she put down the book to follow his lead.

According to Stanley, Pa was out at another elegant dinner, so Stanford and Hephzibah hid in Stanford's bedroom and snacked on peanuts and champagne. They sat on his bed and talked all night, the minutes and hours flying by like a seagull over the endless sea of time. Hephzibah was sitting with her legs crossed, her boots on the floor, as Stanford told of the time he and Stanley discovered the Jersey Devil.

"... so Shanklin the Stab Possum ran to the net and cut the Jersey Devil loose with his teeth! The Devil flew off and breathed fire, scaring the stupid Sibling Brothers and making them fall off the pier and into the sea! The Devil flew off into the sun and no one has seen it sense, and no one ever believes that not only did we see the devil, but had it in a trap for thirty seconds."

"Jesus, Mary, n' Joseph." Hephzibah swore and popped another peanut into her mouth and threw the scraps of the nut into the small bucket they had to keep the room clean and the bed comfortable. Hephzibah shivered, cupped her hands together, and breathed hot air into them.

Stanford sat up in bed and took off his trenchcoat. "Are you cold?"

"M'fine." Hephzibah said and made to pull her own jacket around her tightly out of habit, but she had left it on her bed today. She then smiled and leaned forward to lie by Stanford's side, who was sitting against his headboard and about to give Hephzibah his coat, and he happily wrapped his arms around his secret fiancée as she held him for warmth. "Better." She said smugly before nuzzling her cheek against his chest.

Stanford chuckled, kissed the top of her head, and understood the gleam in her eye when she looked up at him. They met in the middle for a kiss, which was supposed to be a quick peck on the lips and then back to storytelling, but the kiss became even deeper. When they slowly separated for air, Hephzibah marveled at Stanford's appearance and took the hand he held up to her lips and gently kissed each of his six fingers. Stanford was frozen as Hephzibah laid by his side and kissed his birth defect. Some people didn't even want to touch or look at his hands, let alone kiss them. Stanford's gut squirmed when Hephzibah kissed each of his fingertips lightly; he decided that the squirming feeling was a good thing.

When Hephzibah was done, she looked into Stanford's eyes when he was still. She smiled gently, seeing the insecurities he had, and he was determined to demolish them. "Put your hands on me, Stanford." She breathed, barely above a whisper.

Stanford smiled lovingly at Hephzibah and kept one arm wrapped around her, but he put his free hand on her cheek to feel her soft skin with his thumb. His hand then held her chin, he kissed her, and while they kissed, his hand trailed down to her breast and the kiss deepened while Stanford massaged his fiancée and Hephzibah pulled him closer by his trenchcoat, letting her sink into the bed as his body advanced on top of hers gently.

If they were cold earlier, they weren't anymore. The couple took full advantage of the bed they were on and lived their day like it was their last. When the deed was done, they were both hot and sweaty and naked, Hephzibah's body covered by Stanford's, who laid on top of her and was also cautious of crushing her, but Hephzibah didn't seem to care, for she kept him close. They both breathed heavily, panting, and Hephzibah bit her lip with a smile when she noticed Stanford's trembling.

She moved a hand from his back to his cheek and then whispered with a slight chuckle in her voice, "You're shakin'."

Stanford held back a laugh and smiled as he caught his breath. "I'll be fine." He assured Hephzibah, leaned forward to give her another kiss, and then admitted his lack of energy by lying on her chest for relaxation.

Hephzibah happily let him lie there and kissed the top of his head.

* * *

Liz was sipping a cup of hot tea. Rain was pouring outside in the woods that surrounded the shack she sat in with Ford. He winced, flexed his hand by opening and closing his six-fingered fist, and sipped his hot drink. Liz sat her cup on the coffee table by the couch, concerned for the old man she was interviewing.

"Are you okay, sir?"

Ford chuckled and smiled warmly at her. "The rain does not do my arthritis any good. It will pass. Now, where was I…?"

"You and Hephzibah were waiting for the three days to be up." Liz said softly, not wanting to point out the cold, hard truth that the _Titanic_ would never dock in New York. "Sir… what was it like when _Titanic_ hit the iceberg?" She asked gently, not wanting to open any old wounds, but she had come to hear the whole story, and she wanted every detail.

Ford hummed in thought and looked down at the wood burning stove that sat on one corner of the living room, not too far from a little TV. "Depends who you ask. Some men died instantly, like the ones Hephzibah and I ran by in the engine room. Fiddleford later told me that he had been asleep and woke up from the violent shaking and the ear-ringing noise. Stan said he was drinking in the smoking room, flirting with some women, and they only felt a small tremble. Hephzibah and I had guessed that Pa would be back in our suite soon, so we went up to the main dock to stargaze when it happened. I remember, we were sitting on a bench. Hephzie was wearing my coat, and we had a blanket over our shoulders as we renamed the constellations. We looked down to level when we saw a huge iceberg glide right by the ship. It was too close for comfort, sliding along the ship, and a chunk of ice fell when it hit a ladder on the ship. It shattered by our feet and I held Hephzie tighter as we watched the iceberg pass us by. We even looked down at the ship below us and tried to convince ourselves that it only scratched the exterior of the ship, that everything was fine, but the crew around us started to panic, and our instincts told us that something was very wrong. When I took Hephzibah with me to my suite to put on a new trenchcoat, we were confronted by my father."

Liz's jaw dropped and she listened closely as she sipped her cup of tea quietly.

* * *

Stanford had just slipped on a trenchcoat, one still on Hephzibah, and the blanket they had brought with them to stargaze was draped over Hephzibah's shoulders. She saw Stanford shiver out of the corner of her eye, so she removed the blanket from herself and wrapped it around Stanford's shoulders and arms. He held it close to himself as his blood ran cold under his skin at the sight of his father standing in front of the door and glaring daggers at his son.

"So, you've been running around with this fifthly tramp, have you?" Pa growled.

"Pa, stop it." Stanford said coldly and took her hand, making her take a half a step closer to him. "She's wonderful and perfect in every way."

"She's a Negro." Pa snarled and stepped forward. "You can do so much better, Stanford!"

"I don't want 'someone better'! I want her!" Stanford said firmly, his heart pounding in his chest, for, as childish as it was, he still feared his father, but he feared losing Hephzibah more.

"Don't be stupid." Pa snarled and quickly grabbed Hephzibah's other wrist.

"Let her go!"

The door flew open and Pa quickly let Hephzibah go, like her skin was burning him, and they all looked to see who had almost walked in on an ugly scene. Stanley was with two men who were workers on the ship. The workers appeared to be calm, but Stanley was a shade paler than normal and when he saw his family, he moved to them quickly while the men grabbed life-vests.

"We need to find that Fiddleford guy and get to the top deck, now!"

"Stanley, what's…"

"This ship's gonna be at the bottom of the ocean in an hour!" Stanley said darkly and even grabbed his brother by the shoulders. "We've got to get to the lifeboats and get the hell outta here! I don't care if it's April, we're stranded in the middle of the Arctic and it's cold enough to kill a man!"

"No," Pa said and shook his head. "No, God himself couldn't sink this ship…"

"Well then God just gave us a giant middle finger!"

"Stanley." Stanford said in a warning tone and removed Stanley's hands from himself. "He is right, Pa. _Titanic_ is made of iron, it most certainly can sink."

"And it will!" Stanley said and started to grab as many blankets as he could find and carry. "Have you morons got the vests?!"

"Yes, sir, make sure everyone is dressed warmly."

"Good, then let's move!"

Pa growled to himself like an angry bulldog and followed the two men out. Stanley followed his father, and Stanford and Hephzibah followed him, side by side. They reached the top deck and awed at the horrendous scene.

It was like the boats were pieces of meat and the people were starving animals. Workers who were doomed from the start were trying to keep order, having women and children take the boats first and then lower them safely, but with men scrambling for a way off this death sentence and women and children begging to stay with their fathers and husbands, chaos reigned the side of the boat.

"Oh my God." Hephzibah breathed as she was handed a life-vest and she slipped it on over clothes.

"How many people were on _Titanic_, again?" Stanley asked out loud to anyone who had an answer.

"Two-thousand, two-hundred and eight." Stanford said, having a head for numbers, but then corrected himself. "Nine. Two-thousand, two-hundred and nine."

"And how many lifeboats did they say there were on that stupid tour went on?" Stanley dared to ask.

Stanford swallowed. "Twenty. Enough for one-thousand, one-hundred and seventy-eight people. That's a little over half of the people on this ship."

"What THE HELL were they thinking?!" Stanley yelled and kicked the nearby wall, making a loud bang noise. He then swore colorfully as he hopped on one foot, wondering if he had managed to break a toe.

"They were thinking that this ship is unsinkable, son." Pa sneered with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Yeah well this unsinkable ship is gonna kill hundreds of people if nobody does anything!" Stanley yelled as he stood on two feet, his ears catching too many distrustful noises.

"It's alright, darling, another boat is coming for all the daddies!"

"I'll see you soon, love."

"Mummy!"

"Hold her hand, sweetie, that's a good girl."

"Get BACK! Or I'll shoot you like the dogs you are! GET BACK!"

"Ford! Hephzie! Stan!"

The three young adults turned and saw a young man running towards them. "FIDDLEFORD!" They shouted at the same time.

Fiddleford, also in a life-vest, paused in front of them and breathed heavily with his hands on his knees. "H-H-Hephzie! There's… there's a boat for ya! Right by this side! Get on, quickly!"

"No." Hephzibah said firmly and shook her head. "Have someone else take it. Have a mother n' her children take it."

"No!" Stanford said and took her hand. "You're taking it! Lead the way, Fiddleford!"

The men ran ahead, pushing through the crowd, with Fiddleford leading the way and Stanford dragging Hephzibah by her hand.

"Stanford, no!"

"Hephzibah, please, come on!"

"No!"

It was like Stanford was suddenly experiencing tunnel-vision. All he could think about was getting Hephzibah out of here. Stanley was right. It didn't matter how good of a swimmer any of them were. They were all dry out here in the air and it was already freezing. That water would give them all hypothermia and kill them if they didn't stay dry. If Stanford could prevent that from happening to Hephzibah, than so be it.

They reached the boat and Fiddleford pointed ahead. "Ya need t'go _now_, Hephzie!"

"NO!" Hephzibah yanked her hand free from Stanford's grasp and then said in a calmer tone, "I won't leave y'all alone. I'm stayin' with ya."

Stanford stepped forward and removed the blanket from around his shoulders and wrapped it around his secret fiancée. "It'll be okay, Hephzibah, get on the boat."

"No, Stanford! I won't leave!"

"Hephzibah, please, we'll be fine!" Stanford begged and put his hands on her arms to hug her goodbye. Hephzibah put her hands on his shoulders to keep him close. Stanford smiled at her and said, "We'll get out of here, it'll be fine, just go."

Pa, who had fallen behind from the looks of it, hurried to the men and woman and huffed, "There's a lifeboat for us on the other side of the ship! We can all get out of here, but we need to go NOW!"

Stanford grinned and turned back to Hephzibah. "There, you see? I'll see you again soon, just get on the boat."

"No, I…"

"Go on, Hephzie, get on!" Fiddleford urged.

"But…"

"Hey, it'll be fine. Ford and I sail all the time, remember?" Stanley added. "We'll get out of here, just go."

"I…"

Someone grabbed Hephzibah's arm and pulled her into the boat. Stanford took a step back to make separating from her easier, and she was on the lifeboat. Hephzibah was fitted into the boat like the last sardine of a can.

"LOWER AWAY!"

There was a jolt that made some women gasp and hold their children closer, and Hephzibah steadied her booted feet on the boat, her eyes glued as Stanford, Stanley, and Fiddleford stood in a row at the edge of the boat and watched it being lowered to the sea. Hephzibah bit her lip. The men smiled at her, comforted that she would be safe and that she would live.

"It'll be fine, Hephzie." Fiddleford called.

"Just focus on kicking the sea's ass for us!" Stanley yelled with a laugh.

Stanford chuckled at his brother and looked down at Hephzibah. He didn't know if he would live, or if they would ever see each other again, even if they both survived, so in case this was it, he wanted to give Hephzibah a goodbye that was nothing but the truth. "I love you."

Hephzibah swallowed.

Stanford was suddenly punched in the face, on his right cheek. He held it and looked to find that it had been his own father that gave him a left-hook.

"HEY!" Stanley yelled, but Stanford outstretched his arm to keep from any more harm being done.

"WHAT did you say, you pathetic freak?!"

"We don't have time for this! We need to get to that boat…"

"There is no boat! I just said that to get her outta the way, but we'll make it a reality…"

"Stop her!"

The men were distracted when they heard a commotion going on down on Hephzibah's lifeboat. She stood on the edge of the boat, leaped to a nearby rope, and climbed it up to the floor below them.

"HEPHZIBAH, NO!" Stanford yelled and leaned down the side of the _Titanic_. "STOP! HEPHZIBAH!"

But Hephzibah had already jumped through the window and was running down the hall. Stanford turned and ran for his life, pushing people out of the way. Stanley and Fiddleford followed him.

Hephzibah was not an idiot. She knew that the chances of three men leaving the _Titanic_ was unlikely. If anyone was in danger of dying it was them. As Hephzibah had gotten closer to the ocean and farther from her friends, her eyes had been glued to her fiancé. She couldn't leave him alone to die. Hephzibah, suddenly, had a plan. Everything clicked in her head, like a key turning a lock, and she knew what she had to do if she wanted to save some lives tonight. So she jumped off the lifeboat and climbed back on the _Titanic_.

Hephzibah ran as fast as she could down the halls. She went into the Grand Staircase, right below the domed ceiling, and she saw Stanford running down the stairs. "STANFORD!"

"HEPHZIBAH!" They met in the middle and Stanford held her so tightly around the waist that he might have hurt her, but he was too worried for her life and too relieved to hold her again to care. "Hephzibah, you're so STUPID!" Stanford yelled and kissed her lips. "You're so stupid, Hephzibah!" He kissed her again and again. "Why did you do that?! WHY?!"

Hephzibah laughed and cupped his face with both hands. She smoothed his right cheek with her left thumb and said, "I jumped in after ya."

It took Stanford a minute to understand her, but then he remembered what happened the first time they met, how she was willing to jump in after him if he had jumped off the _Titanic_. Of course things wouldn't change. Hephzibah was still willing to jump in after him and try to save his life. Stanford grinned, laughing as well, but with tears in his eyes, and he blinked them away before kissing her.

Hephzibah kissed back passionately and only pulled away to say, "I love you, too, Stanford."

Stanford only kissed her again, and hugged her around the waist. Her arms hugged him around the neck and her face was buried in his shoulder. Unknowing to either of them, Stanley and Fiddleford were standing at the top floor, watching from the wooden rail with big smiles on their faces.

"Those two are gonna be the death of us." Stanley chuckled under his breath.

Fiddleford chuckled nervously and rubbed the back of his neck. "I reckon they might."

Hephzibah and Stanford separated from their hug just enough to look around the giant room they stood in. People were running around, scrambling, panicking. People of all classes were here and scrambling for a way to live. While Stanford's mind was quickly racking itself for ideas, Hephzibah smiled courageously and said quietly, "I have an idea."

Stanford let her pull herself away and she climbed up the stairs to the clock, right between the floors. Hephzibah pulled out her golden harmonica from her pants-pocket and she blew the longest, loudest, high-pitched note she could, mimicking a whistle. The room was still as people covered their ears and moaned. Even Fiddleford and Stanley winced and clapped their hands over their ears.

"LISTEN UP!" Hephzibah yelled and pocketed her instrument. "We all know there's not enough lifeboats for us all, all cuz some asshole in a suit decided that safety wasn't a number one priority."

A man with wavy gray hair looked down at his shoes shamefully.

"But we can MAKE some!" Hephzibah shouted above the crowd. "I look 'round this boat n' I see is two men who are experts on boat-buildin'," Stanford and Stanley grinned when they knew who Hephzibah was talking about. "An engineer," Fiddleford had an idea of who Hephzibah had in mind and puffed out his chest proudly. "N' a bunch of wood n' material that's gonna end up at the bottom of the ocean unless we put it to good use! We can't save the _Titanic_, but maybe we can at least build some rafts to keep up from freezin' to death, but we all gotta work together!"

"Why should we work with you?" One man challenged.

"If ya have a problem workin' with a black woman, that's on ya, but I actually wanna live to see the sun rise, so I'm gonna get to work n' do what others failed to do!" And with that, Hephzibah marched up the stairs to the nearest wooden door, threw herself against it so hard it came off the hinges and fell, and she picked it up to use it to start building a raft.

Stanford just watched her, jaw dropped, too hazed to do anything. The whole room was silent until Stanley clapped his hands together and rubbed them.

"I don't know about any of you guys, but I wanna see Ma and Shermie again." Stanley said clearly to the whole room and helped Hephzibah carry the door down the stairs.

Stanford shook his head to clear it and joined them on the floor. "Stanley and I can help build! We need as much as wood as we can get!"

"I can draw up blueprints n' calculate weight of people t'rafts!" Fiddleford said.

"The water hasn't reached the dining room yet! You men, we'll be scavengers and start there!"

"I saw some emergency axes down some floors! You two, follow me!"

"I'll start grabbing some extra clothes!"

"Here, let me help!"

"The crew is still sending out signals! Help is coming!"

"The closest ship is the _Carpathia_, but it won't get here in time! We just need to last until it comes!"

"MOVE!"

* * *

"It was unlike anything I had ever seen." Ford said, his bones hurting him less as the rain outside was steadily ending. "While many first-class men were looking elsewhere for safety or had given up, many second and third-class passengers had come to help. We divided and conquered. A group of people, men and women, collected everything from wardrobes to doors to tables to mattresses to rope. Another group of people worked with Stan and I to build the rafts accurately. All those years of built-building as kids had really paid off. Fiddleford was assigning people to rafts by their weight so whoever was on a makeshift boat would remain dry. Hephzie used her harmonica as a whistle and directed people on where to go and what to do. Everyone, children, mothers and fathers, people of all classes, were working together to try to live."

"That sounds amazing." Liz awed and scribbled down notes in her journal. "You all saved so many lives that night."

Ford smiled and looked at the fire that roared in the wood-burning stove. "I don't know much about fate or God's work - when it came to the _Titanic_, I wasn't even sure if I believed in a god, because if there was one how could He let such a terrible thing happen? - but it seemed like we had all been placed on that boat for a reason. Maybe Hephzibah and Fiddleford did win those tickets for a reason. Maybe I had visited that university for a reason. Maybe I made Stanley go with me for a reason. Whatever the reason for us being there, at that moment I was grateful that we were all there and could help each other."

Liz gave a nod of understanding, a nod Ford saw out of the corner of his eye, and so he adjusted his glasses and went on with his tale.

"_Titanic_ all worked vigorously for over an hour and a half. We had to work at a steady pace, as the _Titanic_ sunk and more material couldn't be reached or used and we carefully let people go off of rafts. They were still freezing cold, some rafts letting a little water in due to weight, but at least they didn't have to worry about dying. We tried to find Pa and get him off the ship, but we couldn't find him and trusted that he could take care of himself, though Stan sneered he didn't care if he survived or not. Hephzie made it her personal mission not to leave us, claiming that if anyone tried to get her to leave again she would jump into the ocean. I couldn't have that, obviously, so we worked on helping as many people as we could. By now, we were outside of the _Titanic_ and water was creeping up on top of the boat. We suddenly heard four explosions from below, and we knew the ship would skin within ten minutes."


	7. Chapter 7

If it wasn't apparent that the _Titanic_ was sinking before, it was now. The top half was slowly rising as the bottom half was being weighed down with water. Everyone had a life jacket, but the last lifeboat had just left. People were running to the opposite end of the water, trying to stay dry for as long as possible to prevent hypothermia. A small band of musicians were playing to try to bring ease, having already accepted the fact that they were going to die and only wished to bring any sort of comfort with their art. A priest was praying over the souls that would be delivered into God's hands tonight. Mothers were soothing their children with tears in their eyes and on their cheeks. The lights flickered, but a brave crew was actively keeping the power on for as long as possible, even if it meant they would die. People were falling into the cold water, pushed over the edge or have slipped. There was a small group of people staying at the water's edge so the rafts could be tested to see if they floated.

There were still some makeshift rafts left that could hold some people. Ten lives or so could be saved. Stanley was tightly securing a piece of wood to the raft so it would float, the water up to his ankles. It was freezing his feet already and he shivered at the idea of being completely soaked in the below-freezing water. Hephzibah used her golden harmonica to whistle people towards her and she managed to get a third-class man, his wife, and their two children on a raft. She and Fiddleford helped them on and they floated on the water, soon drifting away from the _Titanic_. Two men and a woman took another raft and the men used pieces of wood they had torn off the _Titanic_as ores to row away from the disaster that would soon strike.

Loud moaning of metal rang out and the second of the four funnels fell into the water. It fell on floating people, crushing them, and screams echoed into the night air as they were splashed and the _Titanic_ continued to sink rapidly.

"We have to get on this raft NOW!" Stanley yelled over the screaming and hoisted on, everyone slowly moving away from the water so they were only an inch or so deep into the cold water.

Fiddleford hopped on and they pulled Hephzibah onto the raft. Stanford joined them and Stanley raised a booted foot to attempt to kick them away from the edge of the water, but the sudden absence of power kept him from doing any sudden movement in case it would make him fall into the water. They were submerged in darkness before they would be submerged into the ocean. It wasn't long until the splitting of wood could be heard. Stanford held Hephzibah close and Stanley stood as strong as he could; Fiddleford held the wood with pale knuckles, on his hands and knees, all hands on deck.

The _Titanic_ was splitting in half. People were falling into the giant crack, dying. Hephzibah's ears caught something and she looked up to find a young boy all by himself, holding onto the side of the boat, but about to fall into the crack. He was on their side of the boat, the front of the _Titanic_, and there was just enough dry land that if Hephzibah was quick… She wiggled herself free from Stanford's grasp and ran off the raft.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" Stanford yelled, but Hephzibah ignored her fiancé's call.

Hephzibah splashed in the water, which was now up to her breasts, and her body screamed in agony. She ran clumsily up the boat and to the dry wood, a hard task as their side was slowly sinking. Hephzibah reached the boy, who was holding onto the rail, and took him into her arms. Her three friends watched helplessly as she started to run back the way she came, but the water was creeping up to them slowly. They were trapped, but Hephzibah wasn't having it. She saw a boat a ways off that could still help people if they wanted to. Hephzibah pulled out her harmonica again, blew loudly into it, and waved her arm when she wasn't blowing to signal the people on the lifeboat. She saw some people waving back, and so she pocketed her harmonica and looked at the boy. He had short brown hair that was hidden under a grown man's bowler hat and he trembled in the woman's hold.

"Can ya swim well, sweetheart?" Hephzibah asked the boy in the softest voice she could muster.

He nodded.

"Ya see that boat?" Hephzibah asked and pointed to it.

The boy nodded again.

"I'm gonna toss ya as far as I can, but ya gotta swim to 'em. Can ya do that?"

The boy held her tighter. The ship was sinking faster. The water was to Hephzibah's ankles.

She chuckled, kissed the boy's cheek, and said, "I know, I know, love, but ya gotta try. Alrighty? Can ya swim for me?"

The boy gave one last nod and loosened his grip.

"Good lad. Ya can do it."

Hephzibah took in a deep breath, hoisted the boy up like a sack of wheat, and threw him as far as he could to the lifeboat. He fell with a splash and Hephzibah prayed that she hadn't just sentenced the boy to death, but soon he popped out of the water thanks to his life-vest and he swam to the boat. The lifeboat was rowing towards him, and Hephzibah got to see the boy reach it just as the water reached her hips. Hephzibah grinned happily and she knew that the child would live.

"HEPHZIBAH!"

Hephzibah turned to see three frightened faces, but before she could move towards them, the last two funnels fell, one rolling on one half of the ship, the other falling on the other half. All the men saw was Hephzibah shielding herself with her arms and the funnel falling on her, creating waves that pushed the little raft away.

"NO!"

"HOLD ON, FORD!"

The three men held on for dear life to the makeshift raft. It floated well, but because it was level there was nothing to keep the water from splashing up and soaking them. Still, they were floating. They looked up in horror, their ears flooded with screaming, as the two funnels disappeared into the ocean. Now the raft was floating to the side of what remained of the _Titanic_, having a front seat of the tragedy.

The first half of the ship was gone quickly. The second half, the back, slowly stood up on its end the tail up in the starry sky, as it sunk. People were crowding around the edge of the boat, trying to stay dry for as long as possible. Some were falling like rocks into the sea while others toppled on the boat, breaking necks and ribs. Some were granted a quick death, others not so lucky. The waves created by the sinking ship threatened to drown floating men and women. The ship was actually crushing some passengers and killing them with her weight alone. There was the loud moaning of the _Titanic_ sinking deeper into the ocean, mixing with the blood-curdling screams of the humans sentenced to death for getting on the unsinkable ship. It slowly disappeared, until it was gone and replaced with large bubbles, and then there was nothing but screaming people, over one-thousand people dying right in front of Stanley, Stanford, and Fiddleford's eyes.

The _Titanic_ sank, according to Stanford's watch, at 2:20 in the morning of April 15th.

Nobody said a word on that raft. There would have been four on that raft, but there were only three. They were all partially wet, mostly their feet, legs, and front, but their backs, faces, and hands were dry. They shivered, not only from the cold, but from the traumatizing fear that coursed through their veins. Stanley's jaw was hanging like an executed criminal. Fiddleford was on the verge of a panic attack, breathing heavy and trembling; he turned and vomited into the ocean when acid got caught in his throat and made him gag. Stanford bit his lip, swallowed, and kept his ground, on his hands and knees, his polydactyl hands holding the edge of the raft tightly.

It started out as a breath. "Hephzibah… Hephzibah…" Then a whisper. "Hephzibah… Hephzibah." Then a desperate call. "Hephzibah! Hephzibah! Hephzibah!"

"Ford, I'm so sorry…"

"HEPHZIBAH!" Stanford stood and screamed, cupping his hands by his mouth to amplify his sound. "HEPHZIBAH!"

"There's no way…"

"Stop it!" Stanford demanded, cutting Stanley off. "What if she's still out there and needs us?! HEPHZIBAH!" Stanford took a step closer, but Stanley grabbed him from behind and around his chest, pinning his arms by his side.

"NO! Stanford, getta hold of yourself!"

"LET GO! I HAVE TO…"

"NO!" Stanley wrestled with his twin on the raft, making it sway, and he stood strong and tall, keeping Stanford from jumping into the ocean. "You can't do that! You'll die! It's too late! She's gone!"

"HEPHZIBAH! HEPHZIBAH!" Stanford screamed until his throat was sore, but even then he kept screaming, joining the choir of people screaming in pain in the sea. "HEPHZIBAH! HEPHZIBAH!"

Stanley let his brother scream. He held him tighter, not just to restrain him, but to hug him and try to help in any way he could. Stanford slowly stopped trying to break free from Stanley's hold, and he shut his eyes closed to keep the tears at bay.

"Hephzibah… Hephzibah… my poor Hephzibah…" Stanley loosened his grip and Stanford fell to his knees. He rested his elbows on the edge of the raft and held his head in his hands. He gritted his teeth, but still, somehow, tears leaked out of his eyes and rolled down his cheeks.

Stanley rubbed his back and also found his eyes stinging, and not from the salt water. "I'm really sorry, Ford." He croaked like an old bullfrog. "She was… amazing. Just amazing."

"...rd…"

"She really did live each day… like it was her last." Stanley choked, cleared his throat, and was done for now.

"She… she saved that little guy." Fiddleford awed, sitting on the raft and hugging his knees. "She saved all of us…"

Stanford swore he heard it again. He opened his eyes and strained his ears to listen.

"...ford… Stanford…"

"SHH!"

Fiddleford bit his tongue. Stanford lifted his head out of his hands and looked ahead, where the _Titanic_ used to be. He saw someone splashing in the water and peered ahead, it being difficult to see in the dark night, but he had to try.

"Stanford! Stanford!"

The light-skinned man gasped when he recognized who was swimming towards their raft. "HEPHZIBAH!"

"SWEET LORD!"

"HONEY FOGELIN', SALT-LICKIN' SKULLDUGGERY!"

Hephzibah laughed weakly between her sharp breathes, soaked to the bone and swimming as fast as she could.

"We thought that funnel crushed you!" Stanley explained as he got on his knees, a little behind Stanford, who had his hands outstretched for her.

"I-I-I-It m-m-missed m-m-me." Hephzibah stuttered as she swam closer.

She clapped her hand against Stanford's and held on for dear life. Stanford started to pull her on, but the added weight on one side of the raft was tilting the whole thing.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Stanley yelled and jumped to his feet. "Fidds, get to the other side!"

Fiddleford scrambled to the back corner of the small raft and Stanley stood with one foot at the back and the other at the heart of the raft. Stanford grabbed both of Hephzibah's hands and tugged. Like a polar bear sliding up from the ice, Hephzibah slid up on her belly on the raft and laughed, relief swamping her, but it was soon halted when water was creeping up on the raft, it sinking due to the weight. The raft may be big enough in feet to hold another person, but the weight would make water creep up on the makeshift vessel. Hephzibah pushed herself back into the freezing water and waded.

Stanford held her hands tightly. "What are you doing?!"

"Y-Y-Ya'll'll f-f-freez-ze if I g-get on-n-n." Hephzibah shivered and rubbed Stanford's cold hands. "I'll b-be f-f-fine."

"Don't be stupid." Stanley said sharply, like a father scolding his child for her ignorance.

"One more try, one more try." Stanford begged. "It's just a little water, it will seep back soon. Come on, one, two, three!"

Hephzibah took in a deep breath and Stanford pulled her up. Hephzibah slid on her front once more to get up on the wooden raft and water seeped in from the weight, but they kept on going. Water poured from Hephzibah's clothes and dreadlocks up on the raft and she lay on her back to breathe easier. Her breath was visible in the night air, as well as the men's and she weakly looked up at the sky. The water, as Stanford said it would, was slowly going back into the sea, leaving the four humans wet and cold, but alive.

Stanford sat cross-legged and had Hephzibah lay her head in his lap. He smiled proudly down at her and kissed her forehead. Her skin was still a little warm. Good. "You were amazing, Hephzibah, just amazing! You saved our lives! All those people you helped to make rafts for, they'll all live thanks to you!"

"Y-Y-Y'all b-built 'em." Hephzibah chuckled weakly.

Stanley sat next to them and held his knees to try to get warm. Fiddleford gave a small smile and patted his back. Screams and moans still echoed in the Arctic air. It was more than unsettling. It was haunting. Hephzibah averted her eyes from Stanford's and they were misty at the sight of the stars.

"Look-k-k." She said quietly.

The men looked up at the star-filled sky. They awed woefully at how many shooting stars they saw.

"Grandp-p-pa used t-t-to s-say… wh-when a ch-ch-child d-dies… a s-s-st-star's b-born…"

"Ma used to say God sends a shooting stars when anyone dies." Stanley shared quietly. "It means heaven's got a new angel."

"My Great-Grandpapi used t'say shootin' stars were angels flickin' their cigarettes before God could catch 'em smokin'." Fiddleford added.

Everyone chuckled at the joke, but their hearts weren't into it right now. Hephzibah sighed deeply, plagued by the yells of people that needed help, and she could do nothing for them.

"I should've d-done m-m-more." Hephzibah said to herself, hardly a whisper, just barely breathing her words.

Stanford, however, caught these cursed words and looked down at her. He petted her dreadlocks and said, "No, Hephzibah. There wasn't anything more you could have done. You were amazing. You could have left for the _Carpathia_ and probably be in a warm bed by now, but you didn't. You stayed and saved our lives, you saved so many lives tonight."

"All those p-p-people…"

"I know, I know." Stanford soothed. "We will always wonder if there was something more we could have done, but we can't live like that. We did all we could. All we can do now is hope that help will come and we can board the _Carpathia_."

Stanley looked up at the starry sky. He was good with stars and could tell which way was north and which way was south by the stars alone. He pointed a direction and said, "That way is south. I have no clue where the _Carpathia_ is, but our best bet to finding it, or any help coming from the _Carpathia_, is south of the _Titanic_."

Fiddleford looked around for any fallen debris. He saw a plank of wood that was floating, grabbed it, broke it in two, and gave one half to Stanley. "Let's get our bodies movin', then."

All of them were wet, but compared to Hephzibah, the men were damp. Her life was still in danger, so Stanford held her head and shoulders close. She turned on her right side, her front facing his chest, and she curled her legs and arms inward, like a bunny about to go to sleep. "I l-l-love y-y-you, Stanford."

Stanford rubbed Hephzibah's exposed shoulder. Her voice was weak. It scared Stanford more than drowning in the middle of the ocean. "I love you, too, Hephzibah."

"W-W-Winnin' that ticket… was the best th-thang… that ever happened t'me."

"It nearly k-killed you."

"I m-m-met ya cuz o'that."

Stanford started to notice the darkness that clouded the skin around Hephzibah's eyes and her lips. Her dark skin was growing paler. Stanford swallowed to try to keep his throat from tightening. "Don't. D-Don't even try to say goodbye. There's no need for that."

"It's gettin'... qu-qu-quiet…"

"I know, but help is c-coming. The lifeboats will be c-coming back, the _C-Carpathia_ is c-close, and we're on our way t-to it."

"I'm… c-c-cold…"

"I know, I'm s-sorry." Stanford bit his lip, his emotions flooding him worse than the seawater had done to their ship, and he continued to rub Hephzibah and try to warm her up. "I'm so, so s-sorry, Hephzibah, just stay with me…"

"...m'tired…"

"No!" Stanford yelled, scaring not only Hephzibah, but Stanley and Fiddleford, too. They paused their rowing, their hands numbing, and they put their wood down to rub their hands together and attempt to warm them up. Hephzibah had jumped in Stanford's lap, but he apologized by kissing her left cheek and rubbing her left shoulder and arm in a futile attempt to warm her, despite being excruciatingly cold himself, his legs soaked with her body and most of his body damped from the journey, his teeth chattering. "No, d-don't you d-dare close your eyes. D-Don't go to s-sleep. S-Stay with me. Look at me, okay? Just look at me."

Hephzibah smiled as weak as a kitten. She shakily lifted a hand upward to Stanford, her limb trembling so much it was a miracle she could even move it. Stanford gently grabbed her hand, kissed it, and helped her cup his cheek, guessing that was what she wanted all along. He knew he guessed right when her thumb grazed his skin and her fingertips grazed his sideburn.

"Tell me… 'bout… our b-b-b-boat." Hephzibah requested, her voice a little higher than normal and extremely weak. "N' how we're… g-g-gonna g-g-get it."

Stanford smiled teary, but was determined to be strong for her. "When we get to America, we're g-going to get jobs and work hard. Stanley and I can haul boxes or work at a factory or d-do whatever will pay. You will, too. We're going to work together to get the materials we need to b-build our boat. We won't buy a boat, we'll b-build one, and it will be our home."

"Tell me… 'bout the b-b-boat." Hephzibah stuttered. Her thumb was still and her hand was only up by Stanford's cheek because he was holding it there. "What'll l-l-l-look l-l-like…"

Stanford lowered her hand, but held it and rubbed it to try to keep it warm. Her skin was cold. "It'll have three b-bedrooms b-below deck. One room for us, one for Stan, and one for our children. It'll have one b-big room for a sitting room, a dining room, and a kitchen. We'll have a wood-burning stove to cook and warm our home, a little tub for w-washing dishes, just enough cupboards for storage. I'll even b-build you an oven."

"I c-c-c-can't c-c-cook." Hephzibah admitted with a voice that shook like leaves in the fall winds. "I b-b-burn everythang."

Stanford chuckled a little. "Than I'll c-cook, you'll c-clean, and we'll have Stan watch over the children."

"Hey, why do I get saddled with babysitting if you two are the parents?" Stanley joked, the conversation too sad for his liking.

"It's one of your d-duties as godfather, Knucklehead."

Stanley was about to chuckle over Stanford's use of the word "duty" like a five-year-old, but his attention was elsewhere. "You'd make me their godfather?"

"Who else would we trust to raise our children if s-something happened to us?" Stanford asked, but then looked back down at Hephzibah, who was smiling with sparkling eyes. "B-B-But that won't happen. We're going to w-watch them grow up. We'll school them on that b-b-boat, show them the world, and make d-discoveries and travel until we're cranky old people who w-want nothing more than a cabin and some rocking chairs by a fire. We're both going to d-die in our own b-bed with gray hair and w-wrinkles on our skin. N-Not like this. N-Not now."

"O… kay… o… kay." Hephzibah breathed. "I l-l-love you, S-Stanf-f-ford."

"I love you, too, Hephzibah." Stanford replied, kissed her hand again, and went on telling Hephzibah of how it was going to be. "W-We'll get married as soon as w-we can. I'll w-work as hard as I c-can to get you a ring as nice as you d-d-deserve. It will shine like the sun, b-b-but even then it won't be enough for all you deserve. N-Nothing on Earth c-could. W-We'll get married, and wh-when w-we're ready, w-we'll have our own children. We'll raise them on that boat, teach them how to f-f-fish, to read, to w-write, to d-d-dance, to s-sell like a conman, and anything else w-we w-want to pass d-d-down to them. W-We'll create a w-world wh-where they w-will always be free, and if they're anything like their m-mother, they'll be the m-most amazing p-people to ever grace the p-planet."


	8. Chapter 8

Stanford had talked on and on for so long, doing everything he could to keep Hephzibah's eyes open, but soon they slowly shut and Stanford decided to let her rest. He held her hand so he could feel her pulse, the only clue that she was still alive.

Stanley and Fiddleford rowed as much as they could, but with the short pieces of wood splashing freezing water onto their hands, they had to take a lot of breaks and keep their hands warm. The men were still wet and now their hair and clothes were starting to freeze. How odd, to crunch your hair like it had hairspray or moose in it, but to find it melt like ice in your hand. An unusual feeling, to have your clothes harden over your chilling skin.

It was silent now. There were no more screams. The others who had been given rafts had gone missing when the _Titanic_ crashed, working fast to leave, just like the lifeboats. Fiddleford, Stanley, Stanford, and Hephzibah were the only ones that stayed and now they may have to pay the ultimate price if they weren't careful. They were still wet. They were still cold. They could still die.

Fiddleford had his forehead on his knees, his head down, praying under his breath for help to please come and take them away from this Hell on Earth. Stanley hugged his knees and looked ahead, forcing himself to daydream of something better than this. He played fond childhood memories in his mind, running barefoot on the beach with his twin, making jokes, playing games, and dreaming or a better tomorrow. Stanley really hadn't changed much since he was a kid. Stanford had slowly come to a stop with his words, no longer talking of their plans or even talking at all, but he still petted Hephzibah's forehead and looked down at her, though his eyes did not see. It was like Stanford's brain had frozen solid. It was like Stanford's mind had obtained so much stuff in so little time that now it had paused itself. He couldn't think, or talk, or even more. He doubted he could move his legs; they felt so cold and numb. It was a wonder he could move his right hand to keep petting Hephzibah. It felt like it was the only movement he was capable of.

There was a small light up ahead. A tiny, minuscule light that could have been passed off as a low star, but Stanley dared to hope and he took a closer look. He squinted his eyes ahead and he recognized the source of that light: a far away flashlight. Stanley tried to say a word, but no sound escaped his throat. He put a hand to his throat, rubbed, and tried to speak, but all he could manage was a strained noise. Stanley coughed weakly. Stanford looked up at his brother, concerned, but then his eye caught the light ahead.

"Hephzi… Hephzibah." Stanford breathed, his voice nearly gone due to the cold. His throat was almost frozen over, like his twin's, but he had to try to speak. "There's a boat. Help is coming."

But Hephzibah did not stir. She laid quietly in his lap. Her pulse couldn't be felt.

Stanford's heart skipped a beat. He looked down at her and prayed that he was wrong. "Hephzibah? Hephzibah. Please." He could hardly hear his own voice now, but he had to try. "Hephzibah, someone's here."

Nothing. Pure silence. Stanley and Stanford both looked ahead. They could hear distant voices up ahead. The boat, or whatever was making the light, was still very far away. They needed help _now_. Stanley tried to cough or clear his throat, but he couldn't even do that. He slowly stood up, his limbs shaking and his body weak, but he managed by leaning on Fiddleford, who was in some sort of trance in his fetal position. Stanley waved to them, but they still couldn't be seen.

"Please… please…" Stanford breathed so quietly that not even Stanley could hear him. He took in a deep breath and tried again. "Help… help… help us…" His voice was as strained as he could make it, but it still wasn't loud enough.

"Stanford…"

He looked down, in shock, and was overjoyed to hear her voice one more time, even if it was hardly a breath.

"...ca…"

Stanford rummaged into the pocket of Hephzibah's pants and finally felt it. It froze his fingertips, but this golden harmonica would save their lives. Stanford blew into it, a chorus of musical notes escaping into the night air, and Stanley grinned weakly, given the strength he needed to keep on waving. Fiddleford snapped out of it, lifted his head, and waved his arms for help. Stanford learned quickly how to blow an off-key, high-pitched note, and he blew as hard as he could into the instrument.

"Full steam ahead! Keep rowing!"

Stanford kept on blowing. He didn't care that he was lightheaded. He was the only voice they had. If Hephzibah was going to live, he had to keep playing the harmonica, altering the rescuers of their location. Stanford blew as the light came closer. Stanley and Fiddleford eventually relaxed their limbs and breathed easier.

"Easy, lads, easy! Keep rowing! Careful!"

Stanford didn't stop. He kept playing Hephzibah's harmonica like a whistle. The boat was now visible behind the flashlight. Stanford felt a wave of peace overcome him, and the last thing he became aware of before fainting was a pair of hands that caught him.

* * *

He was warm. And on his back. He could feel his body, like it was his own again. His senses were slow to come back, but he could smell the saltwater and hear the quiet commotion of a big group of people. The sun was kissing his skin. He tried to open his eyes, but it burned too much to do so. He slowly freed a polydactyl hand from under the blanket and shielded his eyes. No one had removed his glasses. And then he was tackled into a familiar bear hug.

"Don't you EVER scare me like that again, you jerk!"

Stanford moaned as his windpipes were being crushed by his brother's tight hold, but he managed to free his arms to return the hug. "It's good to see you, too, Knucklehead." Stanford then jerked out of the hug and held Stanley by the forearms to look him in the eye. "Where is Hephzibah?!"

Stanley smiled sympathetically at his twin and patted his hands. "Geez, calm down, she's fine. They just gave her a room."

"They?"

"Yeah," Stanley gestured to the ship around them, on his knees by his brother's side. Stanford wondered briefly if Stanley had stayed by his side ever since they got on the new boat. "Welcome to the _Carpathia_. You passed out just before Lowe and his men got to us. We got everyone on board and then looked for more survivors before heading off. We've been on the _Carpathia_ for maybe half an hour."

"Was… was there anyone still alive?"

Stnaley's face dropped and he looked down a little in grief. "If there were they were the ones with rafts. I… I saw it with my own eyes. Fidds vomited again. It was… the lifeboats didn't wanna come back. Said it was too risky, people might tip the boat, but Lowe made everyone but volunteers get off his boat and he went back for survivors. Maybe if they had gotten there sooner..."

"Maybe if the _Titanic_ had carried enough lifeboats." Stanford said darkly.

"Maybe if the _Titanic_ had never hit that damn iceberg."

Stanford looked around, taking it all in. It was like when they were building rafts on the _Titanic_. People of all backgrounds, genders, and ages were helping each other and doing whatever they could. One little girl gave a younger girl her doll; the younger girl sobbed into the toy and the little girl hugged her as they both cried. People were hugging and holding each other for warmth and comfort. Butlers and waitresses were passing around coffee and hot coco. One passenger of the _Carpathia_ was sharing his cigarettes with anyone who wanted one. Life-vests were being piled up high. Blankets and coats were being shared. Most people baked in the sun to dry like laundry, like Stanford probably had been, and some people were being carried or walked into the boat. Stanford caught sight of Fiddleford, who was pale and shaking so bad he might fall over, but despite that he was doing everything he could to help, currently watching a mother's children as she begged a worker to check the list of survivors one more time, because her husband _did_ live and was on this ship!

Stanford looked back at Stanley as he started to get up. "I need to see Hephzibah."

"Ford, she's fine. She's…"

"I don't care. I won't rest until I see her."

"Okay, okay, just… whoa! Hold on, Poindexter, give me your arm." Stanley took one of Stanford's hands and helped hoist his arm over his shoulders. Stanley then helped Stanford get up on his feet, and after a few steps, Stanford found he could walk just fine on his own.

"Wait!" Stanford jumped and looked back at the blanket he had abandoned for any sign of gold. "Where is Hephzibah's harmonica?!"

"Oh!" Stanley dug around the pocket of his coat and pulled it out. "Here, sorry. It almost fell overboard when you passed out, but then I remembered how overprotective of it you got when Hephzie offered to sell it, so I pocketed it for you."

Stanford sighed with relief and pocketed it in his trenchcoat. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

"No, I mean it. Thank you, Stanley, for everything. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you."

"Seriously, Ford, forget it." Stanley said and patted his back.

"Just let me say it, Knucklehead." Stanford said irritably and they stopped their walking for a moment. "I… just… thank you, not just for helping with the rafts or for getting help or for trying to find survivors, but for everything you've done for me before the iceberg. I want to thank you for going on this cursed trip with me, for lying to Pa for me, and for being the only person in this whole world I can trust to support Hephzibah and I's relationship."

Stanley squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed them with his fist. "Damn it, Ford, quit it. I mean, c'mon, you would've done the same for me. We're family, we stick together. I've got your back, Sixer, you can trust me. And, for the record, Hephzie's pretty cool. Almost too cool for you."

Stanford chuckled and rubbed his neck. "You're probably right."

"Meh. Not this time. Now let's get you two love birds back together, huh?"

"I don't believe it."

"Huh? Don't believe what?"

"Stanley."

Stanley recognized the way Stanford said his name. He looked ahead, and there, climbing down the stairs from the second floor, a sleeve of his suit completely torn off and his stupid fedora missing but his stupid sunglasses still on his stupid face, was Pa. He actually stopped when he saw his sons and all three Pines men had the identical facial expression on their face, an expression made purely out of shock.

Stanley, the loud mouth of the family, broke the silence first. "How in Moses' name did _you_ survive?"

Pa scowled at the question and stepped off the small stairwell. "I got on a lifeboat with a little girl I found huddled on a bench. Now, how in Moses' name did _you_ two…"

"Hephzibah saved us." Stanford said coldly.

"And about a hundred people. Maybe more." Stanley added. "They're still searching for drifters."

Pa crossed his arms over his chest. "I see."

There was silence. Well, that's not true. There were still wails in the distance from distraught women and children. There was still the quiet whisper of the wind. There was still the clicking of shoes on wood. There was still the voices of workers who were trying to help the few passengers of the titanic that survived. But the Pines were quiet, waiting on someone to speak their mind first, but they were stubborn and uncomfortable talking about their feelings, so instead they stated the facts.

"Pa," Stanford said in a firm voice, laying down the law for the first time in his life. "I'm going to marry Hephzibah once we get back to America. I'm leaving home and I'm going with her. From now on, I'm going to live every day like it's my last, and that means doing what makes me happy, and I'm sorry, but that doesn't include selling my freedom for millions of dollars just to please someone that can never be pleased."

Pa gritted his teeth. His fists tightened. His sons braced for a punch to be thrown. Instead, he growled in a deadly tone, "Fine." His eyes averted to Stanley. "As for you… do what you want. I don't care." And he walked past his sons like they were strangers.

They were both still, stunned by how easy it was. Had it always been so easy? Had they always mattered so little to their father that all they had to do was make it clear that they didn't want the same life he wanted, and they would be cut loose? It had been clear since they were kids that it was that easy with Stanley; Filbrick gave up on Stanley a long time ago, only keeping him around because he was obligated to and because Ma still saw some worth in her son. Stanford, on the other hand, was a different story; Stanford had always been afraid of Filbrick putting up a fight or forcing Stanford to make having him around worth it, but it turned out that Stanford had been wrong this whole time. He didn't know if he should be relieved or sad that it was so easy for his own father to break ties with him. Oh, well. He had more pressing matters to deal with.

"Where is Hephzibah?" Stanford asked, leading the way temporarily up to the second floor of the _Carpathia_.

Stanley followed once he snapped out of it, and when they got to the second floor, he led the way. "Over here."

Many rooms on the _Carpathia_ were already full, but people were actually willing to give up their rooms or share with strangers in order to give to those in need. Stanley and Stanford went inside the _Carpathia_ and down a crowded hall. People were moving luggage around, or carrying blankets, or delivering trays of food. Stanley then opened a door and let Stanford walk in.

It was a second-class room. It had a cozy queen-sized bed, a chair and a desk, and a little washroom to the side. It wasn't as nice as the suite the Pines had on the _Titanic_, but it was certainly better than Hephzibah's previous room. A tiny window had it's curtains drawn back to let in the sunshine. Hephzibah laid in her warm bed, hot plans pressed in between the sheets to warn her body, the blankets up to her chin, but with only her boots and Stanford's lent trenchcoat visible on the desk's chair, it was to be assumed that she was still dressed in her old clothes.

Stanford found himself to be weak again. Hephzibah's skin was pale. Her eyes seemed to be sunken in somehow, or maybe the bags under her eyes had only grown. Her dreadlocks were down, melted from their frozen-rope-hold, and, from what Stanford could tell, she was sleeping soundly. Stanford didn't know what to do with himself. All he knew was that he had to be near her. He slowly walked up to the bed as Stanley closed the door behind them and Stanford pulled the desk's chair up to the head of the bed, the damp trenchcoat over one arm and Hephzibah's boots scattered on the floor.

Stanford wanted to hold her hand, but her body was tucked into the bed so tightly that it would be cruel to pull her arm out from the warmth of the bed, so he settled for petting her forehead. Oh, thank God, her beautiful dark skin was warm!

Hephzibah stirred at her fiancé's touch. Stanford paused and Stanley watched happily from the closed door to give the two their space. Slowly, Hephzibah opened her tired eyes and saw who had come to pay her a visit. "Stanford…"

"Oh my God, Hephzibah." Stanford said quietly with a tight throat. He swallowed, making his Adam's Apple bobble, and he smoothed her forehead gently. "You're… you're going to be okay. You're going to be alright."

"Wh-Where are we?"

"The _Carpathia_. It's alright. Everything is alright now." Stanford leaned forward and kissed her forehead to seal the promise.

"I know." Hephzibah said, her strength returning, and she freed her left arm from the sheets so it laid by her side and she held Stanford's offered hand. Her eyes averted to Stanley and her smile grew. "I'm just glad y'all are okay."

"Thanks to you." Stanley corrected.

"C'mon, y'all know it was a team effort."

"Well, we're gonna need more of that awesome teamwork stuff once we're out on that boat and on our own."

Hephzibah thought of something else, and then looked to Stanford. "Do ya still have my…"

Stanford pulled out the golden instrument and laid it in the palm of his hand. It sparkled in the early-morning sunlight. Hephzibah grinned and sat up. "Stanley saved it." Stanford explained as his fiancée as she awed at the fact that her one treasure had been saved.

"Thank you." She breathed. "Thank you very much." Hephzibah took it gently, cupping the cold metal until it became warm, and knowing that it would make her feel better, and make others feel better, she put the harmonica to her lips and played a song, no longer intending to use it as a whistle.

Stanford sighed in relief as the music swept over the room. He leaned forward and crossed his arms on the edge of Hephzibah's bed, and then rested his cleft chin on his limbs. Stanley sat at the foot of her bed and listened blissfully. He hadn't felt this relaxed since he was asleep in a warm bed the night before. He was tired, so very tired. As the harmonica sang, Stanley slid off the bed and sat against it, leaning back and falling asleep. Stanford closed his eyes and began to do the same, his glasses still on his face, but this time, when he rested, he was doing so peacefully and bathed in the warmth of others, not just in the sunlight and dry clothes.

* * *

Liz's smile was unlike anything Ford had ever seen. Then again, in all of his years, he had never seen two smiles that looked the same. Liz's smile held relief, amazement, and a hint of anticipation to hear more. Ford decided that he had had enough of leading the conversation and that he missed her voice, so he waited for the young woman to speak.

Liz swallowed, and then she said slowly, "There were… two-thousand, two-hundred and nine people on the _Titanic_."

Ford nodded with a kind smile, the kind that most old men seem capable of giving, the kind that hugged your spirit and encouraged you.

"There were… only around eight-hundred survivors?" Liz guessed, unsure if her number was accurate.

Ford, however, had a head for numbers and remembered. "Eight-hundred and ten. One hundred and three were either rescued by Lowe or were discovered by the _Carpathia_, all were on rafts."

"So, you, Stan, Fiddleford, and Hephzie saved over a hundred lives that night." Liz awed and wrote these numbers down in her journal.

Ford chuckled. "It was a team effort. If it wasn't for Lowe, the people on rafts, including us, might have frozen to death. Building rafts might have been Hephzie's idea and Stan and I may have been in charge of building them, but you must remember that nearly everyone who left on a raft helped in some way. Some people helped and didn't survive. A small group of men drowned while trying to get materials. Just like how many different factors played in the _Titanic_'s sinking, many factors played in the survival of others."

Liz, nodded, understand, but then she wondered why she had never heard such a brave story like this until now. "Ford, how come this wasn't in the papers or on the news? I mean, four people working hard to save over a hundred lives."

Ford chuckled. "Ah, that was actually my idea. I anticipated the overwhelming arrival back to America and the idea alone made my head spin. I admitted to Hephzie, Stan, and Fiddleford that I was tired of being publicized, and I was surprised when they agreed with me. Hephzie said that, after everything that happened, all she wanted was to get to work on our future in peace, so we slipped away with Ma, Pa and Shermie as quick as we could to avoid the newspapers once our names were documented. Later that night, Stan and I said goodbye to Ma and went back to New York to find Hephzie."

"Did you ever get your boat?" Liz asked with an excited grin.

Ford couldn't help but chuckle over her again. "Yes, we all worked very hard and only ate two meals a day, but by the beginning of July, the _Stan O' War_ was completed. The next day, Hephzie and I were married at the courthouse in our finest clothes, with only Stan as our audience, and that afternoon we sailed away from New York to start our new life together. We did what we said we would do." Ford then heard the familiar sound of a car pulling up to the house. "Oh, Stanley and Hephzibah are finally home." He remarked. "They were out picking up my great-niece and nephew; they're spending the summer with us, as they always do. You're more than welcome to stay for dinner and meet them, if you would like."

"Thank you very much!" Liz said, grateful and excited, and looked at the photographs that decorated the living room. Black and white photos of Ford and Hephzie in their nicest clothes in front of a new boat with Stan, an accumulating pictures of children and grandchildren informed Liz that the Pines had indeed done what they had set out to do. She had always known the ending based on her keen sensing of observation, but she was more than happy to learn of how it came to be. "I guess your story has a happy ending, huh?"

Ford shrugged. "Well, that's for you to decide. It's your story, now."

The door flew open.

"We're home!"

"And you'll never believe who we found at the bus stop!"

"Grunkle Ford!"

Ford was suddenly hugged by two twin teenagers, one girl and one boy. Ford hugged them back tightly, one arm wrapped around the other, and he grinned happily at their arrival as they looked down at the old man sitting on the couch. "Mabel! Dipper! It's so good to see you! You're almost as tall as me."

"I'm finally taller than Mabel!"

"My one centimeter!"

"Hey, hey!" Stan warned, an eight-ball cane in his hand and his keys in his other hand. "Don't get… short with your brother!"

"Oh, the irony." Dipper sighed.

Liz smiled, but was more interested in seeing Hephzie. She appeared from the hallway, her dreadlocks charcoal-gray and a few wrinkles under her eyes, but otherwise she looked just as youthful as she did in that photo that was taken on her wedding day.

Hephzie walked up to her husband and kissed his cheek. She then turned to look at Liz and smiled. "Hi, ya must be Elizabeth!"

"Y-yes, ma'am." Liz stuttered and shook her hand. "It's… wow. It's an honor to meet you."

Hephzie rounded on her husband in a playfully-scolding manner. "What did you tell this gurl?!"

"Only about our experience on the _Titanic_, darling." Ford said with a roll of his eyes.

Liz giggled under her breath over the old couple's playful bickering and said, "Your husband's an amazing storyteller."

"Thanks. Our four kids seem to think so."

"Oh, you're Elizabeth Martel?"

"Yeah. Nice to meet you."

"I'm Dipper."

"Oooooooooooooooooh!"

"Quit it, Mabel."

"Alright, so what'll it be? Spaghetti or fried fish?"

"If we want fish we'll have to catch it today, Stanley."

"Hey, we never had a problem doing it before."

"I wanna teach Elizabeth how to fish!"

"Alright, anyone who wants to eat get in the car!"

The younger pair of twins raced to the red Diablo. Stan twirled his keys on his fingers as he laughed at his brother's grandchildren. Liz started to chat with Hephzie as they walked out the door. Ford was the last one to leave the shack. After so many years of traveling at sea, they wanted a place where they could have a non-moving home and still have that sense of adventure, so they had moved to one of the newer states, Oregon, and found a little back-woods town with some of the most unusual creatures and people they had ever encountered. With a warm excitement to share that with Liz and to relive with Dipper and Mabel again, Ford smiled at his home and closed the door behind him to join his family.

**THE END**


End file.
